


Warstuck [DEAD]

by TheWittyAmerican



Category: Homestuck, World War II - Fandom
Genre: Art, Gen, Gore, Pictures, Sadstuck, WWII, War, Work In Progress, fic with art, fiction with pictures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:30:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWittyAmerican/pseuds/TheWittyAmerican
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about two soldiers, a Nazi, a gypsie girl, an Imperial officer, and everyone in between. --- I'm afraid I've abandoned this story for the time being. If I were to return to it, it'd be a complete remake. I apologize to any loyal readers I had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The day that lives in Infamy

Jade Egbert Harley strode across the deck of the U.S.S. Arizona as though she owned it, clipboard tight in hand, fingers bearing odd multi-colored little rings gripped tight on the wooden frame, white dress flowing behind her. She smiled warmly at the passing sailors, each returning the warm smile with one of their own. She was on her way to find Captain Harley; her husband. Jade loved her work as an officer’s secretary. Hell, she even found her husband that way. Or, as Jade always put it, her husband found her. She was just about to enter the indoor quarters of the ship when she heard a holler from the bow. It was distant and she couldn’t make it out, but Jade recognized the urgency and panic in the tone. She turned around, as did the sailors near her. She began to stride forward as more calls rang out. As she approached the men making the noise, she a few recognizable words. “Planes-” “gotta get off-” “flying too low” “mother of god, torpedoes-”. Jade’s mouth slowly went agape, her larger two front teeth now exposed. Her arms turned to jelly, falling to her side, the clipboard hitting the deck of the ship with a loud wooden smack. Her eyes grew wide behind her large round glasses, the sun shining off the silver frame, reflecting the large grey blot making it’s way from the sky towards her.

“Shit!” John yelped as he missed the nail he was attempting to hammer, hitting his thumb instead. It began to throb red and he quickly stuck the injured digit in his mouth, numbing the pain as best he could.  
“Egbert, you ok!?” a voice called from below, John’s construction manager. While one might usually think that a call if someone is “ok” would show concern, with John’s construction manager it was more of a “if you’re injured you're fired” sort of deal. Being a construction worker in L.A. was not fun work, John would tell you if he didn’t have his thumb in his mouth.  
“Fine, boss! Just whacked my thumb…! Again! I’m coming down!” John said, sliding his legs off the wooden beam he sat on to hop onto the ladder that made it’s way down to the ground floor of the soon-to-be apartment complex.  
John was halfway down the ladder when he heard his construction manager’s voice. “Egbert, hurry up!” Usually this meant that John had left his equipment in the cement mixer (again) or had dropped a hammer on someone’s lunch (again) but his manager’s tone was of panic, not anger. This got John moving. He ignored the throbbing thumb and grab-stepped his way down the ladder as quick as he could.  
John hit the ground with a thud and turned, barely avoiding tripping into an open ditch. Many of his fellow employees were huddled around the radio. What was going on? John quickly approached and began to listen, resting his thumb back in his mouth, sucking gingerly on the injured digit. As everyone began to settle down, the voice of the president, Franklin Delano Roosevelt began. This shushed all the idle chatter and whispers between workers. “Yesterday, Dec. 7, 1941 - a date which will live in infamy - the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan…” That was as far as John got before he was sprinting from the construction site, sprinting to catch a bus, utter distraught in his eyes.

Rose L. Egbert stared in utter horror at the radio. It couldn't be. This was impossible. What she was hearing was impossible. Rose’s hands began to tremble on her coffee cup but she starred on, fighting back the tears climbing in her throat. It took a lot to break Rose Lalonde Egbert, and yet she could feel her self coming apart at the seams. The president continued. “The United States was at peace with that nation and, at the solicitation of Japan, was still in conversation with the government and its emperor looking toward the maintenance of peace in the Pacific.  
Indeed, one hour after Japanese air squadrons had commenced bombing in Oahu, the Japanese ambassador to the United States and his colleagues delivered to the Secretary of State a formal reply to a recent American message. While this reply stated that it seemed useless to continue the existing diplomatic negotiations, it contained no threat or hint of war or armed attack…” The coffee cup slipped from Rose’s hand, crashing to the floor.

Dave Strider glared behind his shades, teeth in a snarl as he listened to the radio, car oil staining his white and red accented baseball shirt. Mother fuckers, he thought. The mother fucking little- Two other mechanics stood behind Dave, their faces equally snarled in anger and hatred. A man whose car was being worked on was sitting on the ground, head in his hands. “M-My boy! My boy was wo-workin’ on one of them ships in Pearl Harbor, h-he was stationed there! Oh god, oh god!” but the mans voice was so distant, so far from Strider’s mind it was like the faint click of a clock in one’s subconscious. Only Roosevelt’s voice made it through his numbed state of hatred. “It will be recorded that the distance of Hawaii from Japan makes it obvious that the attack was deliberately planned many days or even weeks ago. During the intervening time, the Japanese government has deliberately sought to deceive the United States by false statements and expressions of hope for continued peace.  
The attack yesterday on the Hawaiian islands has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. Very many American lives have been lost. In addition, American ships have been reported torpedoed on the high seas between San Francisco and Honolulu…”

His oddly purple eyes trailed across the paper, a written excerpt of a speech the president of the United States gave roughly a day ago. “Yesterday, the Japanese government also launched an attack against Malaya. Last night, Japanese forces attacked Hong Kong. Last night, Japanese forces attacked Guam. Last night, Japanese forces attacked the Philippine Islands. Last night, the Japanese attacked Wake Island. This morning, the Japanese attacked Midway Island.” A sickening, devilish grin rose from Imperial Officer Ampora’s lips, a bloodthirsty look entering his eyes, his eyebrows high with excitement, the very hairs on the back of his neck standing up in sheer pleasure. War was coming. Blood would flow. And glory would be his.

The other Japanese officials huddled around the paper as Feferi Piexis’s father, an aid to Emperor Tojo, read the transcript delivered to him aloud for all to hear, Feferi’s eyes wide and face pale in fear, concern, and worry as she paid especially close attention. Her father read on; “Japan has, therefore, undertaken a surprise offensive extending throughout the Pacific area. The facts of yesterday speak for themselves. The people of the United States have already formed their opinions and well understand the implications to the very life and safety of our nation. As commander in chief of the Army and Navy, I have directed that all measures be taken for our defense. Always will we remember the character of the onslaught against us…” Feferi let out a faint whimper, audible only to her. “We’re all going to die…” she whispered.

S.S. officer Scratch had called his right and left hand men, officer Makara and officer Zahhak, in for a private reading of a recent address given by the esteemed Roosevelt, president of the United States. As Scratch delved deeper into the written copy of the speech delivered to him, sweat began to form on Equius’s brow while a slow grin began to emerge on Gamzee’s discolored face. Scratch read on; “No matter how long it may take us to overcome this premeditated invasion, the American people in their righteous might will win through to absolute victory.  
I believe I interpret the will of the Congress and of the people when I assert that we will not only defend ourselves to the uttermost, but will make very certain that this form of treachery shall never endanger us again. Hostilities exist. There is no blinking at the fact that our people, our territory and our interests are in grave danger…” as Scratch trailed on, images of war- True, gruesome war- Emerged in Equius’s head. Images of brothers killing brothers, of families fighting to their last breaths, of the utterly gruesome and unimaginable acts of war- All flashing through his mind, blinding him like a light that had been turned on too fast. “Oh my…” he breathed in a shaky tone under his breath.

Staff Sergeant Dirk Strider glared at the radio presenting grave news to him, his platoon of fresh recruits all huddled behind him to listen (not daring to get close enough to even brush their Staff Sergeant). Dirk’s hands began to shake as Roosevelt began to finish. “With confidence in our armed forces - with the unbounding determination of our people - we will gain the inevitable triumph - so help us God.  
I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, Dec. 7, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese empire.” Dirk slowly rose his head, lip quivering, sweat forming at the lines where his hair met his face. He turned to his men who stared at him, looking for guidance, looking for orders, looking for an assurance that what the fuck they heard was true. Dirk strider slowly, carefully, adjusted his pointed sunglasses and stared at his men. “We’re at war.” Dirk said in a voice shaking with anger. Dirk simply broke away and began to walk forward, the men quickly clearing the way as he made his way across the training grounds, going nowhere in a hurry. The men stared in shock as their C.O. walked off. “We’re at war…” one of them whispered to no one in particular. “War…” Another echoed.

We are at War.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read my fan fiction! I realize my writing is currently a bit... Elementary, but I promise it will improve over time.  
> And please, PLEASE, comment with suggestions and criticism! Be harsh, be mean! This is my first real fanfiction and trust me, I can take the mean.
> 
> Note; Thank you Tommy, my best friend and editor. God knows I couldn't write sh*t without you.
> 
> Note's Note; Follow my Tumblr, TheWittyAmerican, if you wish for further updates on the story or email me at azseanster@gmail.com, I will answer all emails and fan mail.
> 
> Note's Note's Note; Thank you Jane, my wonderful girlfriend, for the lovely artwork that is now in Warstuck! (read often as the photos will be upd8ed out of par with the rest of the story)


	2. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye's hurt worse than the bullets that make them true.

John and Rose sat still on the couch. John got his crying out a little while ago, and now Rose was merely sitting there, staring at the brown coffee stain on the floor. They sat silently because they knew what was coming next. “... That’s why she n-... Never returned my telegrams…” John muttered in his stunned tone. Rose merely remained still, gloom hovering around her like ghosts. Here it came. “Rose, hon… I’m joining the army-”

  
“No.” Rose responded without emotion, her eyes fixed on the coffee stain. The mere simplicity of the response caught John off guard. He sputtered a bit to himself, staring blankly at her.

  
“I… Yes, Rose… Rose I have to-” John began again before Rose cut him off.

  
“No, John. You’re not doing anything but staying here with me. End of discussion.” She stood from the couch, John staring at her with eyes of a puppy that’d been kicked. Rose didn’t even have to turn around to see them, she could feel those eyes burning a hole in the back of her skull. “Stop. John, just stop. I’m going to go into the kitchen and get some cigarettes, and we’re going to forget about all this. Understand?”

  
“I-” John was able to make out before Rose merely strode away, stepping over the brown coffee stain. Rose went for the cabinet with the cigarettes and lighters in it when John’s hand caught it. His grip was tight at first. The whimper Rose gave was enough to have John loosen his grip. Rose tightened her lip. She could feel her eyes glossing over. She fought them back, Jegus, she fought them like Hell. “Rose… She was my sister… Damn it Rose, she was my sister and now sh… She’s…”

  
Rose’s lips quivered. “And I’m your wife… She wouldn't want you to just throw your life away like this… I won’t let you throw your life away like this John… For god sake, we just got married!” she snapped, turning to stare up at John. Now the tears came. They streamed down her face as she snarled up at her husband. That pained look hit him hard. And Rose saw it like red paint on a white target. She felt it move through the air and hit him right across his stupid face. John frowned, his eyebrows drooping a bit.

  
“Rose…” he began, but she would have none of it. She ripped her hand from his nearly nonexistent grip and began to scream at John in some new found rage.  
“You can’t do this!” she screamed as she brought her fists against his chest, swinging wildly, John seeming to barely budge. “You can’t you can’t you can’t! You can’t leave me! You can’t do this to me! I can’t lose both of you! I CAN’T LOSE BOTH OF YOU!” John merely stood there, his face frozen in a mixture of shock and pain. Rose was far smaller than John and her punches didn't leave more than a few ruffles in his shirt, but she knew she was hurting him, not with punches but with her pleading. If he was going to leave she was going to make it like he was yanking his hand out of a jar of broken glass and salt.

  
John moved his hands to catch her wrists mid-swing. Her angry yelling turned to sobs as she collapsed in John’s grasp. John tried to pull her into a hug but she drew away from him, hugging her chest, staring at the floor between them. “G-Go…” she said. John, that look still growing on his face, tried to move in to hold her when she recoiled back as if he were pure Hell-fire. Rose swore she heard him whimper.

  
There was a long silence before John slowly backed away to the front door. She heard the door creak open and click shut. Rose fell to her knees, sobbing.

 

Dave Strider sped across the open Texas road on his motorcycle, brush and animal life whooshing past him. One might ask why such a cool fella like Strider here joined the army. He’d usually just adjust his shades and say it was for “irony” but this time he’d tell you the truth. He was angry. He was more ridiculously pissed then he’d ever been in his life. He didn't know what inside him snapped- perhaps the father sobbing over the loss of his son at Pearl Harbor, perhaps the many lost American lives to a sneak attack no one saw coming- whatever it was Strider felt it. He felt the hatred like it was more than just an emotion inside him. It was a being. But when it came down to it, Dave knew exactly why he was doing this. His life had gone nowhere.

  
The only real possessions Dave owned were a shitty apartment in Houston, a motorcycle, a leather jacket and some hand-me-down clothes. From birth he’d practically raised himself, trying to play the hero on the streets by fighting off the sleazy characters flirting up the “damsels in distress” only to find his face met with a pair of shoes, multiple on a bad day. No steady relationships, no steady jobs, no steady goals in life. Strider never let on though, behind those shades of his. He was always cool, calm, and co _ **HOLYFUCKISTHATACOW**_!?

  
The cow on the road in front of Strider seemed to come out of nowhere (an actual attentive driver may of said differently). Dave was quickly snapped back to reality as he attempted to swerve the bike around the “teleporting” bovine. The tires skidded left while the bike tipped right. There was a loud screech as the tires neared the edge of the road and finally gave way. Dave was sent face and shoulder first into the asphalt. He skidded across the ground as the bike shot out from under him, flipping and smashing off into a distant bush. Dave quickly tucked his arms in and went from an uncontrollable tumble to more of a seizure-like roll. He flipped into a ditch, his rather ongoing motion being abruptly stopped. The wind was knocked out of him as he shades flew off his face into the dirt near him. Dust blinded his vision, a cloud of it consuming the whole scene. Everything hurt.

  
Dave gritted his teeth and groaned as he dug his fingers into the dirt, pushing himself to his knees. He held his shoulder as he looked around. The dust finally cleared and he saw the cow, still casually walking down the road as if nothing happened. Dave’s jaw was agape. “You’re welcome for me not hitting you in the fucking face you stupid sirloin!” Dave yelled, then quickly recoiled at the triggered pain in his ribs. This’ll leave a mark. Dave grabbed his shades and slipped them on. A few scratches but his trademark lived on. He shuffled over to his totaled bike, picked it up, and started walking. He was close now. Close to what would fix the mess that was the life of Dave Strider.

 

It was close to eight P.M. now. Rose sat on the couch, her mascara long washed away, if not by tears then by the bath she’d taken. She felt bad. No, she felt awful. Rose had known John for a long time, since they were kids, as well as his sister, Jade. She knew he wouldn't hurt her intentionally. Jade was Rose’s oldest friend next to John. Her death hurt Rose. Perhaps that’s why she had acted as rash as she did, Rose thought. But if Rose losing her oldest friend hurt her this much it must have been ripping John apart. And yet he still tried to be loving with Rose, to put it calmly. He cried for a bit, she remembered that, but he toughened up. Rose recalled always acting, sometimes sarcastically and sometimes literally, as though she wore the pants in the family, that she was the muscle that pulled their lives along. But she knew it was John’s tenderness and grit that was the true winner between them.

  
Rose sighed and buried her face in her hands. It was almost eight and he wasn't back. She was starting to get worried. She was about to call the police when she heard the door open. John stepped in, his head hung low. “I understand if you’re still angry… I think I’ll stay at the motel down the street until you think it’s ok for me to come back to live here. I can start on the couch and-” John’s pitiful display was abruptly stopped by Rose leaping at him, throwing her arms around his neck and embracing him in a tight hug.

  
“Oh just shut up you big oaf!” she said with a laugh that contained a few sobs. Whether they were of joy or lingering pain, Rose was unsure of. John recoiled a bit, but quickly threw his arms around Rose. They stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity. “I understand.” Rose said simply.  
John opened his mouth to speak, but closed it and rested his chin on her shoulder. “I’ll come back… I swear, I will…”  
Rose smiled and kissed John on the cheek, stepping back to hold his hands in hers. “I know.”

John watched Rose through the train window. He smiled and waved, his heart heavy. She waved back, constantly sniffling, trying to keep it all in. The train jerked forward and she began to disappear from his sight. John kept his near glued to the window, watching her fade away. And then, she was gone. For the immeasurable future, all that would be left of her for John would be letters. This train was Arizona bound, Fort Huachuca.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank you all for the reads! 39 hits in barely 48 hours of posting this fic! Y'all rock!
> 
> Note; Thank you Tommy, my best friend and editor. God knows I couldn't wright sh*t without you.
> 
> Note's Note; Follow my Tumblr, TheWittyAmerican, if you wish for further updates on the story or email me at azseanster@gmail.com, I will answer all emails and fan mail.


	3. Laying Down the Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win."  
> -Sun Tzu

The bus came to a halt. John’s head was launched forward, smacking into the seat in front of him. John blinked heavily and looked around, adjusting his glasses, his suitcase in his lap. The doors hissed open and a burly looking man with a broad chest and greying hair stepped on, the bus nearly tipping to one side. Was this guy really all muscle? “Off the bus boys, move your ass! Time to fit you for the worst six months of your life!” he roared. John gulped as the hordes of young men began to push their way through the bus like a current, sweeping him with them.

He was rushed along with the horde to a half-circle shaped building of metal. The large burly man turned to face them. “Now, I will not sugar coat this. We will be hitting the shit immediately. You have the remainder of today to unpack what meager belongings you wretches have, get in your uniforms, and get in to bed. Tomorrow you will awake at o’five hundred, sharp. You will make your beds so neat, so straight not even Jegus H. fucking Christ will be able to see a fault in it’s symmetry, am I understood!?”

“Sir yes sir!” the crowd returned.

“Good! Then move your asses!” the burly man barked. The boys quickly rushed into the building, chatter between them already beginning. Once they began to disperse in the barracks John was able to spread out a bit. Holy Hell it was hot out here. California was humid, but this Arizona heat made it feel like John was in an oven. Most the boys had come in groups and already found their beds, yet John stumbled around with his duffel bag on his back, unsure where to settle down. He looked around in a confused manner. It was like finding a damn lunch table in high school. Finally he spied a blonde kid in a tanktop and jeans, sunglasses on, playboy in hand. Did they allow “gentlemen's magazines” on base? The man seemed alone. John approached with caution.

John set his duffel bag on the bed adjacent to the blonde guy, begining to file out his belongings. He neatly folded away his clothes in his footlocker as well as some other knick-knacks until he came upon a picture of Rose. When had she slipped this in here? He gave it a quick look. It was her and John, side by side at a Christmas party a few weeks ago. “She looks so happy…” John muttered to himself, unaware he was speaking out loud. He did not notice the the figure looming behind him. 

“So, you bangin’ her?” the voice asked crudely.

John whipped his head around to find the blonde guy, staring down at him, his shades giving a sort of condescending yet… Cool look to the man. “I, uh… Wh… Oh! Oh, no, this is my wife. Wait, I mean yes. Wait, banging? As in- For god sake I’m not even here 3 minutes and I’m already lost and confused.” John said, his eyes going a bit wide behind his glasses as he slumped against the foot locker. The blonde guy laughed and kneeled in front of John.

“My name’s Dave, buck-tooth. Dave Strider. Who’re you?” he asked, extending his hand.

John tucked the picture in his pocket and grabbed Dave’s hand, pulling himself to his feet. “I’m John, John Egbert. Nice to meet you Dave.” John said with a bright smile.

Dave raised an eyebrow from his shades. “You’re a bit friendly… A’ight, let me explain to you somethin’. Most the people in this room’s gunna be dead in a year, or two. You seem like the nice type so I’ll put it to you easy. Don’t make too many friends, because a lot of ‘em may not be comin’ home to pretty wives like you got. If you’re gunna be friendly, understand the consequences.” Dave said, resting a hand on John’s shoulder.

John frowned a bit, glancing to the floor from the side of his glasses. “Yeah… I figured as much. But hey, if I’m one of the ones that doesn’t make it back… Might as well die around my friends, r-right?” John said, offering as sincere a smile as he could though any real joy had just been purged from his body.

Dave offered a cocky yet comforting smile back. “Sure man, sure, I feel ya.” He said. This relaxed John a bit. Suddenly, the door of the barracks burst open again, the burly man was back. “Why the ever-loving SHIT aren’t you all in your beds!? MOVE MAGGOTS!” Dave and John quickly sprinted to their beds. For fuck sake, they were still in the clothes they came here in. They both jumped into their beds, John on the bottom bunk, Dave on the top bunk. Once the rustling stopped moving and it was clear everyone was in their separate beds, the burly man nodded. “Shitty dreams, shitbirds!” he comforted, flipping the lights off and slamming the door closed.

There was a very long pause of silence where no one rustled or spoke. Then, for just a moment, Dave’s voice broke through for all to hear. “These beds really fucking suck.” This was met with a collection of snickers.

 

The door opened with a slam. “UP AT AND AT ‘EM CUPCAKES!” the voice barked. John’s eyes shot open and he jolted a bit, pulling something in his neck. He groaned, holding his neck as everyone quickly bolted from their beds. “FRONT AND CENTER SHITSNACKS!” the voice barked again. Everyone began to shuffle toward the sergeant. He rolled his eyes. “Not without your CLOTHES you MORONS! You’re heading to the fuckin’ showers!” They all turned back, rushing to their footlockers.

John rubbed his sore neck as he rifled through his footlocker. Boots? Check. Olive trousers? Check. Undershirt? Check. Socks? Check. Olive button-down? Check. Belt? Check. He bundled the clothes in his arms, folding them as he went. He stood in line with the others. He glanced back- Dave was there. Good, at least he wasn’t on his own. At once everyone began to move. John could tell they weren’t nearly as organized as they’d have to be in the next six months. The clump of young soldiers bustled over to the shower house. Everyone filed inside, someone closing the wooden door behind them. John stopped, looking at the unblocked rows of showers. Immediately he saw everyone getting undressed, tossing their clothes to the side. John look mortified. “Wait… We’re all naked? Where are the stall blocks?”

Dave chuckled a bit, disrobing himself. “Man, you really are new to this kinda crap aren’t you?”

There was a hard knock on the door. “Five minutes cupcakes! Then you hustle your asses over your barracks and file in line by your bunks!” the burly-man barked. “I’m really starting to hate him…” Said another young soldier John only knew by “Morrison”. Names weren’t being passed around much, everyone either knew each other already or didn’t mingle.

After a very uncomfortable 5 minutes, John slipped his drab on and jogged back to the barracks. Everyone got in their respective lines, shoulder to shoulder, Dave to his left. Then, silence. All they could hear was the buzz of the lights in their barracks. It remained that way for several minutes until the door opened, for once not with a violent swinging bang. Some snapped 

The man was short, dawning 3 chevrons on his shoulder and a hat John only described as “those things Mounties wear”. He walked calmly with his hand behind his back. He looked at their heels to attention, others (like John) lazily followed.each man with steady, piercing eyes. John stood as erect as he could, chin level with the floor. The sergeant walked by him, giving him the same look-down as the others. Once he finished he moved to the center of the room. He cleared his throat. “My name is Sergeant Aaron Ratchet, or if you prefer AR. I will be level with you. I am about justice. I am about what is fair, what is true, what is just.” he paused, staring at one man in particular before turning to face the area near John. “You have met Sergeant Boxer. You see he is an ass.” there was a brief chuckle. “I will be fair, true, and just with you all, under one condition; follow Ratchet’s Rules of War. 5 rules I will engrave into your memories until you begin to dream these rules, mutter them in your sleep.” He paused, looking away from where John was to the opposite side of the room.

“Rule one,” he began. “Follow orders. Don’t be the one to sprint off from your group thinking you’re some kind of hero. All you’re going to find is the ‘Great Almighty’ walking you through the pearly gates of “you’re an idiot” town.” There was a restricted snicker from the crowd.  
“Rule two, keep the enemies heads down. What goes around comes around and that goes double for a bullet. If you cover your fellow grunts, your fellow grunts will cover you.” he turned once more to face the corner to John’s left and the men standing there.

“Rule three, save casualties BEFORE they’re casualties. Bullets don’t always kill. If your buddy is down you drag them back to cover and make sure they get back so that they may kill another day.” He paused once more for effect, then turned back to John’s area.

“Rule four, keep track of your ammunition. It’s not just embarrassing to be caught by a Jap with an empty mag, it’s also very bad for your health.” Once more, there was a suppressed snicker.

“Rule five… Don’t get shot. I can’t even go into more detail on that one; don’t get shot. Don’t be that idiot that takes a bullet they didn’t need to take, because then you’re going to put some other poor bastard in harms way trying to drag your hide back to a medical tent. Am I understood soldiers?”

“HOORAH!”

“Hoorah indeed. Also, there is an written sixth rule of Ratchet’s Laws of War.” Silence. “Don’t. Break. Ratchet’s. Laws. Of War. You break them in bootcamp and I will personally break you over my knee. Break it in battle and Tojo will do it for me.” John gulped. AR looked over everyone more, then nodded. “Looks like you all get the message eh? Alright, hustle over to the obstacle course. Time for you ‘fine gentlemen’ to see what everyday for the next six months will be like.”

Wake up, shower, obstacle course, mess hall, clean firearms, shoot firearms, marching, shoot firearms, more marching, mess hall, back to obstacle course, showers, mess hall, bed.

 

Imperial Officer Eridan Ampora stood, looming over the prisoner before him. A chinese rebel, from Nanking even. Ah Nanking… Eridan took a moment to briefly recall and admire the work he’d done there. He opened his eyes again, glancing to his left. The man’s wife and son were also bound, two Japanese soldiers aiming their rifles at them. Eridian smiled and kneeled down at eye level to the man. “Where are the arms you stole from our outpost in Nanking?” Eridan asked in a calm tone. The Chinese man kept his head low, his black sweat-sticky hair blocking his face.

Eridan grinned and grabbed the man's hair, yanking his face up to meet Eridan’s. The man groaned, then glared into Eridan’s eyes. “Kill me!” he screamed. “You’ll never get the location of the guns from me! The Japanese will be pushed from China and there is nothing you can do about it!”

Eridan merely held his smile, letting go of the man’s hair. He nodded a bit to himself, pacing around the man. He then made his way over to the man’s wife. She turned her head away from Eridan. She was shaking. He could see was she scared. Then turned his attention to the boy. He looked about fourteen, maybe fifteen. There was even a bit of peach fuzz adorning his chin. Eridan motioned for the woman to the unbound. The two Japanese soldiers lifted the woman to her feet and undid her bindings. Eridan nudged his head to the side, motioning she go join her husband. She had a brief look of joy on her face as she shuffled over to her husband.

The Chinese man smiled up at her and she smiled back. However she froze just before reaching him. She had a confused look on her face, but her eyes began to widen as a small trail of blood moved down the corners of her lip. She gurgled as the katana went through the front of her throat, ever so slowly, until a good foot of steel protruded from her neck. The Chinese man’s eyes were locked on hers, his mouth opening. “No…” he whispered.

In a flash the katana was yanked from her throat, blood spraying from the wound onto the Chinese man and the wall behind him until all was red. The woman slowly moved her eyes up to the ceiling, the gurgling noises growing louder, until finally she fell backwards with a hard bang on the bamboo floor. The Chinese man and his son starred in a mixture of horror and awe. Eridan lowered his katana to the floor, blood dripping from the tip. “Hmph… I’m going to the next interrogation, wrap up here.” he said to the other two soldiers, sheathing his katana and walking out. Shortly after, the tent erupted into an orchestra of gun shots.

 

It was a constant routine of get up, go go go, fall down for John and his new found friend. Five months to be exact. However, John could tell he’d come a long way from when he’d first arrived here. During the first week he couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn with the Thomson he’d been given, though now he was nailing cans at medium range with enough precision to even have AR turning a smile. There was a perk to being a construction worker, and that perk is godly hand-eye coordination.

As for the obstacle course, his first week was spent with scratching at the 5-log-high wall, praying for some gust of wind to launch him over. Now, John actually enjoyed getting up in the morning and running the course. Vaulting over walls, crawling in the mud, zig-zagging through tires- It was like he was back in elementary school. This was a playground for him.

Dave was not quite so adjusted to this new militant life. When handed an M1 Carbine, Dave couldn’t hit 100 broadsides of a barn all next to each other in one giant, glorious barn for a super-breed of mega cows. Now he could barely hit his marks at 30 yards. Still, AR was patient. Always monitoring, always attempting to improve. Dave did feel his skills increasing a bit, perhaps not as well as John’s, but increasing none the less.

As for the obstacle course, Dave despised it with such a passion it wasn’t uncommon for him to dream of the whole damn thing alight, even the mud. Flammable god-damn mud. Dave at times found pride in his ability to press on even when he was exhausted, tackling the course with the relentless professionalism that the army he’d now joined promoted so strongly.

Dave and John had grown closer as a team, as well. They were almost never separate and made few other friends besides each other. AR often promoted such use of teams, and when it came to two-on-two hand to hand combat training Dave and John often dominated the other teams. Together they were relentless; Dave would keep one busy while John would get around and smash them into the ground, Dave moving in for the “kill” while John single-handedly decked the other opponent.

However, one day AR called everyone out into the training field after their morning meal. There was a chalk circle of decent size, about 10 yards tall and 10 yards wide. AR stood in the middle, wearing only a T-Shirt, olive trousers and a pair of boots. He was often dressed prim, an officer to aspire to (in the sense of fashion, anyway). The men lined up, Dave and John in the front. AR gave his men a smile and began to pace the circle slowly. “You’ve all proven in team combat that you’re all more than capable. However, what I’ve noticed with the majority is that you break off, one man taking on the other. Today, you will be fighting me- And me alone.” Dave gulped. “You will still be in your teams of course, to make it fair.” AR said a bit arrogantly, grinning to himself. “Get into your teams; we fight until one of you gets me either back or belly down into the dirt. Otherwise, you’ll be staying up all night, and don’t even think about eating dinner. Alright, enough chatter; who goes first?”

Dave and John, proud as they were, stepped forward. AR smiled at them and nodded. “I expected no other team to be so ready for this challenge I’ve given you,” AR said as he relaxed his shoulders a bit, raising his hands into fists. “Alright boys; have at me.”

Dave and John rose their fists, slowly shuffling forward. Per usual, Dave moved in the front and John around the side. AR held his ground, leaving his side completely exposed to John should he advance while Dave got into closer combat. ‘Got this in the bag!’ John thought. Dave got close and bounced a bit. AR’s eyes were locked on Dave’s movements, every jostle, every twitch he saw. Dave finally jabbed left. AR dipped his head out of the blow’s range and stepped back a step. Dave swung once more with his other hand in a long right-hook. AR lolled his head under the swing gracefully, Dave’s clenched fist barely grazing a hair on AR’s head. John, of course, was just watching, waiting for his moment to strike. Now it was AR’s turn.

While Dave’s right side was completely exposed, his arms to the left of AR, the small drill sergeant launched a fist into Dave’s gut. Dave spat out air, his breath escaping his lungs instantly. AR slipped behind the hunched over Dave quick as you please. AR launched his boot into the back of Dave’s knee, sending Dave to his knees. John began to panic; this wasn’t how most of these fights went down! He charged forward, planning on sending his knee into what ever limb of AR he could reach, he had to get Dave back on his feet. AR, of course, was waiting for this.

When John was close enough he leaped forward, launching his knee at AR’s side. AR smiled and grabbed the back of Dave’s shirt, throwing Dave to the side- In the path of John’s knee. John’s “heroic” blow was sent straight into Dave’s face. There was a loud smack as Dave was launched into the dirt, flying past AR, who stood like a Matador as the bull (that was now Dave’s limp body) came speeding past him. Dave skidded across the dirt like a stone ‘cross water before coming to a halt, staring at the sky with wide eyes, his nose bleeding. Ow.

John went wide eyed, watching in horror as Dave skidded. “Oh sh-” John began before AR’s foot briefly met John’s face. John’s head went to the side, spit splattering across the dirt as John fell belly-first into the ground. AR smiled once more, resting his hands behind his back, the two boys lying in the ground, groaning in pain. “Now, who’s next?”

This series of two young boys trying to defeat AR, and AR proceeding to utterly annihilate them, continued from 8 in the morning till 6 at night. The men all stood in a loose clump as the pair that were currently in the ring were thrown out of it. All the young soldiers were battered and bruised, tears in their clothes from the rocks on the ground, multiple bleeding from broken noses or other lacerations. John stood, holding his wounded shoulder while Dave was sitting on the ground, holding his thigh. “We’re never gonna beat this guy…” Dave said with a cough, spitting out some blood into the dirt as the next two boys moved in, most likely to receive yet another healthy daily serving of whoop-ass.

John kneeled with a groan next to Dave, still holding his shoulder. “We’ve got to win this next one…” he said, watching as the boys began to dance around AR, both looking utterly exhausted while AR was only now- after many hours- beginning to show signs of flagging. Dave watched carefully as the small man bounced around, launching the two boys into the dirt.

“We have to tire him out.” Dave said plainly.

John scoffed a bit. “And how exactly are we gunna do that?”

Dave smiled. “We just have to keep him going. Tease him on. We always advance and be aggressive; well, how about we act like we’re about to go hail-mary on him like we’ve all been trying for the past day and then have him strike a few times, only to be out of his reach. Keep him going until he starts to soften up. Then, we hammer him.” Dave said, slamming his fist on the ground for emphasis. John sighed, standing up.

“Well… Worth a shot; not like we’ve had much luck thus far.” John muttered. He extended his non-injured (or, less injured, to be accurate) arm down to Dave. Dave took the aid and was pulled to his feet. They both stretched their limbs best they could and entered the ring. This time John stayed close behind Dave as opposed to his usual side-step routine. AR rose his fists up once more, smiling.

“How does dirt taste, Dave?” AR asked, chuckling. Taunting; just what Dave wanted, now his sudden burst of aggression would appear real. Dave launched himself forward, making for a right hook before pausing, ducking left. AR originally moved his arm to block the right hook but, upon seeing Dave duck low, moved his foot to trip Dave. Dave of course was ready for this and jumped over AR’s extended leg, rolling across the dirt back to his feet. AR moved his head to see where Dave had gone. He realized the mistake he had made but was too late to reverse it; his back was now exposed to John. John launched an elbow forward, konking AR in the back of the skull. AR stumbled forward, bringing his foot in a roundhouse toward John. It nicked John across the chin and sent him back a bit, Dave joining his side. The crowd of soldiers gasped. This was the first real strike on AR made yet today.

AR grunted a bit, nodding. “So, took you both this long to get it huh? Alright boys, now the real fight begins…” AR danced forward, bouncing from foot to foot. Shit, shit he’s never actually advanced before.

Dave gulped and readied his fists, John moving back to Dave’s side. AR leaped at Dave, throwing a punch. Dave narrowly side stepped it, AR sliding past him. AR turned and whipped his fist backwards toward Dave’s face, whacking him across the mouth, causing Dave to stumble a bit. John went to knee AR in the side but AR caught the knee between his arm and his ribs, elbowing John in the nose with his free arm. The two boys stumbled back but AR progressed with even more aggression. AR sent an uppercut for John. It landed, sending John another few steps back. AR was exposed and, this time, Dave took the initiative. Dave launched his fist out, catching AR across the jaw. AR’s head cracked to the side as Dave sent another blow; a kick to the side of AR’s leg. AR hollered as his leg was sent to the side and he fell to his knees. John moved in to AR’s front while Dave was geared in the back. AR knew there was little to stop this; he’d finally been beaten.

Dave reared back and launched his leg forward. The flat of his foot hit AR’s back like a freight train. AR coughed up what air was left in his lungs as he was launched forward toward the dirt and, more importantly, toward John’s foot. John had launched his leg forward as Dave had. AR’s face cracked right into John’s leg, the impact causing AR’s head to whip back as he fell, a bit of blood shooting into the air. Finally, AR hit the ground with a thud. Dave and John stood over the body, both breathing heavily.

AR coughed, stumbling to his feet, holding his nose (which now bled). He removed his hand to look at his bleeding nose. He smiled at the both of them, nodding. “I’d say you earned that meal…” John and Dave lowered their fists and looked to each other, both bearing a shit eating grin. There was a cheering of the beaten and battered men that shared John and Dave’s barracks.

A steak had never tasted so good before that night.

The next day, John and Dave were standing near their bunks talking, the rest of the platoon also enjoying their “off day”. The door squeaked open and everyone turned to see AR walking in, hands behind his back. Everyone rose to attention, standing near their beds, bodies stiff as boards. AR walked from man to man as he had the first day they were trained. Finally he moved to the middle of the room and smiled. “As I’m sure you all know, the battle again Japan is heating up. The Marines are kicking Tojo’s ass at Guadalcanal, but sooner or later they’re going to need help. The 23rd Infantry Division has been training at New Caledonia in jungle warfare. Some of you will be getting desk jobs but the majority of you were are joining those brave men against the Japs on the front.” smiles spread all around, in fact all but Dave were smiling.

AR grit his teeth in a smile. “You’re soldiers!” he slammed his fist down in his open palm. “HOORAH!” the boys cheered. “You’re Americans!” he said again. “HOORAH!” the boys responded. “You’re killers!” “HOORAH!” “And most importantly, you’re going to kick Tojo’s tail back to the fuckin’ dynasty age!” “HOORAH! HOORAH! HOORAH!” the soldiers chanted on. Dave however, got an odd chill up his spine. He glanced at John; even he was cheering. Something in Dave’s gut told him now was not as joyous a time as it seemed. Something told him that war perhaps wasn’t as excitable as all these young grunts thought it was going to be, as Uncle Sam said it would be. Not for the revenge bent John, not even for the Order-bent AR. Why did it take so long to realize a simple truth; war was coming, and war was ugly. Unfortunately for Dave, he’d come to this conclusion far, far too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? See!? I haven't given up on Warstuck! (sorry for the slow post, school has been rather irritating)


	4. Blood on the Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "War does not determine who is right - only who is left."
> 
> -Bertrand Russell

Equius breathed in through his nose and gently breathed out, staring at the mirror in his quarters. He ran his fingers through his hair, slicking the long locks back. He finished buttoning up his officers coat, taking a moment to note the SS pin on his collar. While the coat fit Equius rather well the pants were rather goofy-looking. Due to Equius’s large build, it was difficult to find pants that he could sport well, therefore the trousers he had here all came up to just below his knee, forcing him to wear high socks. Scratch also jested in saying he looked Napoleonic in this fashion.

Equius turned toward the door of his quarters, satisfied with his current attire (though it seldom bothered him). He opened the door and stepped out into the crisp December air. The sun was only just rising above the horizon. Being third in command, somehow below that fool Makara, Equius’s job here at the labor camp was to sort out the new comers in the civilian entrance, Makara dealing with the POW entrance, and Scratch… Well, Scratch had his own agenda. Equius had figured that much out right quick upon his arrival.

Equius strode across the camp, his boots leaving fresh prints in the soft white snow. As he walked, a recurring thought came across Equius’s mind. These “labor camps” weren’t really for labor at all. These were political slaughterhouses. Quite frankly, Equius had only made his war cry for the Nazi party when it spoke of a reform of what was once the Great German Empire. Equius was only a boy during the Great War but he recalled his father, an engineer for the Germans, speaking of the heinous outcomes of the Great War and how Germany had been kicked to a corner like some dog that’d bit its owner.

Granted, Equius was no fool; he knew he had some blind prejudices against the Entente. That did not change how he felt for the Fatherlands though; the Germans were clearly superior, even some of the Japanese admitted to this (not that those fools would know anything about what a true hierarchy of beings are anyway).

Equius made it to the front gates, a large brick archway with wrought iron gates and two sniper towers. An 8 foot brick wall stretched across the entire camp, barbed wire lining the top. Equius climbed the steps to the middle of the archway which looked over the train stop. Ten German soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the gate, a junior officer waiting for the first train to arrive. Equius reached into his coat, drawing a pocket watch. 6:44 in the AM. The first train should be arriving soon. 

Equius leaned his head from the tower, taking a closer look at the men below. “Krieger! You’re five inches in front of the line, find your place man! Schneider! You call that standing at attention!? Are you a soldier or a tweaker?” Equius continued to bark until he felt a cold hand on his shoulder, one he recognized like no other touch on this earth. Equius silenced his ranting and turned to his right, extending his right arm into the air above him. “Heil Hitler!” Equius said loudly.

Officer Scratch gave a lazy salute back. “At ease, Zahhak.” Scratch said, resting against the railing of the gate overview. Equius rested his hands behind his back and stood upright behind Scratch, waiting to see what Scratch wanted. Scratch was quiet for a good while, staring in an unfocused gaze out across the rolling Austrian hills, his stark white hair twitching in the crisp winter morning breeze. Finally he drew a cigarette from his officers uniform. He took it between his lips, taking a match from his sleeve and lighting the smoke. He offered another cigarette to Equius, who politely declined. Scratch stuck the cigarettes back in his coat pocket and stood in front of Equius. Only now did he grasp quite how large his third in command was.

Finally, after this long silence, Equius spoke. “Sir, is there something you request of me?” Scratch smiled that cold smile of his, turning back to face the gates of the camp.

“I only wanted to check on my officers dear boy, I’ll be seeing to Makara and his men after you… Also, if you’d please, later tonight after dinner I’d like to speak to you in my office.” Scratch said, taking the cigarette between his fingers, smoke rolling from his nostrils.

Equius snapped his boots together. “Of course sir! I could skip my meal to meet you sooner, if it pleases you, sir?” Equius inquired.

Scratch laughed a bit, turning to pat Equius on the shoulder before making his way for the stairs. “That will not be required Zahhak. I’ll see you later tonight; be a… good host to the newcomers arriving today. The directing details will move the guests, you just… Welcome them.” Scratch said as he reached the bottom of the stairs, making his way across the camp grounds, two guards at his right and left.

Equius let his shoulders slump a bit, a few beads of sweat dripping from his brow. Something about Scratch always did Equius nervous, yet… He felt like a peasant before the Doc.

“Officer Zahhak! Trains arriving!” Equius heard from one of the guards below. Equius turned his head and leaned it off the gate walkway. “Well? What are you waiting for? Welcome our guests, Schneider! Must I do this all myself!?”

 

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Rose Egbert slumped in the lazyboy in the living room, the clock counting down the seconds, minutes, and hours Rose sat alone, staring at the letter on the desk. It was from John, and while she hadn’t opened it yet, she knew what it’s contents would entail. Where he was going. What hell-hole the U.S. army would be sending him. Maybe he’s just going to get sent into the reserves, Rose pondered. She bit her lip, closing her eyes. She knew that wasn’t it. She knew that her- nor John- ever had such luck. She glanced away from the letter briefly to the coffee stain adorning the floor. Still haven’t gotten around to cleaning that up, Rose thought. Finally, with a sigh, Rose leaned forward and picked up the letter.

 

The train jerked to a hard stop. Nepeta was thrown forward, ripped from her dream. She hit the wooden floorboard of the train with a smack, letting out a yelp. She crawled to her knees, rubbing her cheek. There was a pause, a few German voices hovering around the walls of the cart. The other gypsies were all standing, holding each other, most wrapped in the tattered cloth they’d lived in for so long. It was all the soldiers that rounded them up would let them keep.

A wrinkled hand came down in front of Nepeta. “Huh?” she muttered, looking up. An older man bearing what Nepeta found to be beautiful dark green scarf was reaching down for her to aid her up. She extended her small hand to his, taking his help as he pulled her to her feet.

“On your feet little one.” the man said, looking onward across the heads of the cluttered gypsies. He looked back down to Nepeta, seeing the fear in her large eyes and the bit of blood now trickling from her nose. He kneeled best he could in the tight car and removed a handkerchief from his coat pocket. He dabbed the blood from under Nepeta’s nose. He proceeded to take the scarf from around his neck, wrapping it around Nepeta’s neck and shoulders. It nearly acted like a poncho; she was so small. He smiled. “There, now you-”

He was interrupted as the doors squealed open. German voices barked and everything began to move so fast. Nepeta shuffled forward with the old man, people bumping her as they filed out of the car. She squeezed the scarf tightly around her, burying her head deep enough into the scarf it stopped above her nose. The morning sun hit her emerald eyes, causing her to wince and blink. The crowd was moved along brick walls toward a fence, loud voices barking in a language she didn’t understand to her right and left. She looked up at the looming gate to see a rather tall and muscular man in square glasses staring down at the crowd.

 

Equius leaned against the railing, watching the gypsies file out. An officer came up the stairs and approached Equius. They turned to meet each other, the soldier extending his arm out. “Heil Hitler!” they exchanged. The soldier then glanced to the crowds. “You are needed for sorting sir. We have a small group today, shouldn’t take very long. However… Er… Officer Makara has requested to… ‘Take his pick of the litter’ sir.” the soldier explained.

Equius tightened his lip. He was so very irritated by Makara’s perversion. When ever there was a group of gypsies or Polish civilians, Makara came along to pick what ever women he pleased. Equius tried not to think about why they never left his quarters, or if they did they seldom spoke or would try to throw themselves onto a soldier's bayonet. Equius sighed. “Alright, file them into the courtyard.”

 

Nepeta shuffled along with the others, the German soldiers leading them into the long courtyard. She was in the middle of the crowd and couldn’t see much of the camp through the marching bodies, though she swore she saw a wall with a ditch in front of it, soldiers filling the trench once more with earth, some sort of red stain sporting the wall. She hugged the scarf close to her body as she was shuffled along until she and the others finally came to a stop. She could hear a man with a strong voice speaking, directing orders.

 

Equius looked over the crowd of gypsies. He always hated this part; deciding who would live and who would die. For once however, Makara’s existence here was a GOOD thing. He would choose who was sent to the fires while Equius chose who would join the ranks of the workers. In truth Equius saw the difference as a slow death or a quick one but one would be shocked to see just how long people cling to life. This double-ruling system was Makara’s price for his whore-choosing.

The first few were good hearty young men. “Go left you lot, you’ll be working.” Equius commanded, motioning his hand. The men shuffled off, grunting angrily. They appeared a fiery bunch; better keep an eye on them.

Next, an old couple approached. Before Equius could speak, Gamzee blurted out “You two mothafuckas go right!” he gave a sort of half wicked, half drunken grin. Equius could see the old couple was a bit unnerved by this.

Equius cleared his throat. “There’s… Food and medication for the old and sickly that way. Go on.” The couple looked a bit more relieved and shuffled off. Equius normally hated gypsies. All they did was take up space and ruin small towns with their filth. But even they weren’t deserving of this.

A young woman holding a fur coat approached. This one must of been the caravan leader, or perhaps one of the prostitute girls. Makara grinned. “Well hello lil’ lady…” Gamzee said, approaching her. She smiled coyly, drawing the coat to her lips in a mysterious manner. She may of known how this “game” was played with most young boys, but she did not know Gamzee Makara to the horror and extent Equius did. After some uncomfortable flirting, Gamzee hooked his arm around her and walked her back beside Equius. “I think I’ll take this girl right ‘ere and maybe another or three, heh heh ha…” Equius rolled his eyes and continued.

Next, an old man with a young looking girl with a large approached. The old man stood with a broad chest and bravery in his eyes. Actually, he looked quite strong. The young girl looked a bit too small to do any heavy lifting, but perhaps if-

“Lil one with me, old man to the right.” Gamzee said with his arm still hooked around the woman in the fur coat. Fear enlarged Nepeta’s eyes.

The old man stepped in front of Nepeta. “No! I know what you’ll do with her! You can do to me what you like, bu-” the old man was interrupted as Gamzee shot across the snow, his long gangly arm sending his fist right into the man’s lower jaw. The man dropped to his knees, Nepeta screaming and falling backwards in the snow.

As the old man was bent on his hands and knees in the snow, spitting a bit of blood, Gamzee chuckled a bit. “Look at this mothafucka right here tryin’ TELL ME WHAT TO DO!” Gamzee sent his foot right in the old mans ribs. There was a sickening crack as the old man was taken off his hands and knees a good few inches in the air before slamming back into the snow, rolling a bit. Gamzee drew his Luger with a smile, aiming with full intent to kill, up until a large hand found it’s place on Gamzee’s shoulder.

Gamzee looked back with a sneer, Equius’s tall figure looming over the twitchy messy-haired man. “No, Makara.” Equius stated in a commanding tone. “He is still strong enough to work. He lives.” Gamzee’s shoulders rose and fell with his wild breaths before finally he gave a loud chuckle, lowering his pistol and letting his arm swing a bit freely at his side.

“What eva’ you say big man! I’m takin’ miss fur coat to my mothafuckin’ quarters, you have fun sortin’ these bitches.” Gamzee laughed out, putting his arm around the coated girl and walking off to the other side of the camp- Gamzee’s side of the camp.

Equius huffed a bit, turning to face the old man. The small girl had her arm around his waist, helping him to his feet. When he had finally risen, he and the small girl shuffled past Equius. “Thank you…” the girl said in a wispy scared tone as they made their way to the work barracks.

Equius sighed heavily. “Don’t thank me yet…” he said in a whisper when she was out of earshot, before straightening his back and peering at the on-looking group of gypsies. “Alright, you scum have seen your show. Next prisoner!”

Officer “Doc” Scratch stood with a pipe in his gloved hand, staring out the window of his office at the scene that had just unfolded. His eyes narrowed a bit in interest as he brought his pipe up to his lips, the wood of the pipe clattering with his near-spotless white teeth. “Hmm…” he muttered.

 

Rose Egbert drew in a breath and sighed. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she unfolded the piece of paper and began to read.

“Hi Rose! Sorry if this letter isn’t exactly formated or… Grammatically proper or whatever it is you call it. You were more of the book worm then I was. Anyway, I’m just letting you know I’ve officially made it out of bootcamp! I’m a private now! Wait, that sounded wrong. Anyway, I have some sort of bad news. There’s a regiment-thing that lost a lot of people in the last few months of the war in Japan. They need reinforcements and it seems that’s where me and Dave are going. Oh, I forgot to mention Dave! He’s the first friend I made when I got here! And for some reason he wanted to know if I was… Hitting you, or some sort of sexual thing that… I dunno. He’s kinda weird. But cool in some sort of way. Am I rambling? I think I’m rambling. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know not to worry and that I am doing alright. I hope you’re doing alright too and I’ll be sure to write you letters as often as I possibly can! I love you Rose! I’ll see you again in no time!  
Love, John.  
P.S. Am I supposed to write “love John” if the last sentence I wrote was “I love you?”  
P.P.S. I love you”

Rose gave the first real laugh she’d ever had in the last six months as she held the card. She didn’t even notice the tears finding their way onto the paper. “I love you too… You idiot…” she said out loud with a genuine smile.

 

Feferi slowly opened the sliding door of her room. Being an aid to the emperor of Japan, her father made quite a handsome amount of money, enough to even pay for a maid every other day. The only trouble was Feferi did not know which days and when she may of decided to stay the night. Sneaking around in such a paranoid condition was never an easy task. Not to mention that her father may not even be asleep which would make this entire rebellious task pointless.

Feferi crept into the hallway, taking cautionary steps toward the sliding door into her fathers office. The door was open slightly but the lamp wasn’t on; good, he was asleep. She slid into the office and quickly made her way to his desk which was cluttered with papers. She could by the state of the room her father had been very busy. Usually he never leaves a paper unfiled.

She sat down in his chair and began rifling through the papers. Anything of any real value would be still held in the Imperial Palace, not an aid’s house, but at the very least she could get an update as to what’s happened these past few months. The papers say that Japan has been winning decisively but Feferi was wiser than to trust the press. Aha, what have we here. A summary on the front of the war with America. She began to skim.

Her eyes dotted down the page. It seemed an Imperial Officer Ampora was running most of the show on the front as far as land battles went. The Americans were slowly pushing forward, but at a cost. She set the page down and was going to go for another when the door slid open. She quickly looked to her side to see her father standing in the doorway. He looked exhausted, still wearing his work clothes. Did he go to sleep in those?

His stubbly face adorned a frown. “Damn it Feferi… I told you, this information isn’t for you to know!” he barked.

Feferi stood, chin high in the air, chest extended. She always was a prideful one. “I hear rumors of what we’re doing to the farmers in the islands the Americans are advancing on! Do you want to know what I hear?” she asked in a sharp tone, approaching her father. Her father sighed, rubbing his nose and leaning tiredly against the door frame but Feferi pressed on. “I’ve heard we’re using them as bullet shields practically! Setting the village to blow and killing Americans in ambushes!” she was in his face now. “I hear we’re even taking their crops! Feeding our troops and leaving them to starve! How can you allow such activity? How can you allow such monstrosity by our own hand, to our own pe-”

Her father swung his hand out, striking Feferi across the cheek. There was a sharp smack, a quick pained gasp escaping her lips as her head jerked to the side, her long flowing hair moving gracefully through the air for a moment. She looked up at her father, who’s angry frown now turned into a regretful one. “Feferi, wait-” he began before she pushed him out of the way, running down the hall toward her room. She shut her slide door and threw herself on her bed, beginning to sob. Her father sighed even heavier, rubbing his eyes with his thumbs. What was he going to do with her?

 

“Grey ithh a thhade you dumb athh.” Radioman Sollux Captor said in a condescending tone, his lisp heavy, his voice cracking with prepubescents even though he was far out of his teens.  
“Oh is that so ‘mithhter I thhpeak with a lithhhhptptpa-pa-p-p’!” Rifleman Karkat Vantas said, his voice a bit louder than it usually had to be.

“You make fun of my lithp again and I’ll drop you you little thhit!” Sollux returned.

“Did you just called me a tit?” Karkat jeered.

Their tent opened, Sergeant Dirk Strider poking his head in. “Will you two useless bastards stop arguing and get out here? You can save your damn circle-jerk for later. We’ve got wounded coming in.” The two soldiers stuck their tongues out at each other and stood, grabbing their rifles and leaving the tent. The smell of a scorched jungle filled the air.

Karkat and Sollux stood behind Dirk. “Thhir… The wounded… Thhat meanthh...” Sollux began before Dirk interrupted.

“Yeah Captor… We’re going into the jungle for the first time, us and a helluva lot more able bodied young Americans.” he paused for a moment, looking back at his two men. They both had smiles and looked fresh for a fight. Dirk returned the smile. “I don’t even have to ask if you’re ready for this do I?” Dirk jested.

Karkat grit his teeth in a bloodthirsty smile and raised his rifle up onto his shoulder. “Let’s make ‘em fuckin’ pay!”

 

Imperial Officer Ampora stood with his hands behind his back as he stared at the burning jungle. Yet another victory under his command. But he knew the Americans would be back, very soon in fact. The same wicked smile trademark to him adorned his lips once more. “I’ll be wuh-waiting…” Ampora muttered under his breath. At that moment, three very eager young Americans began their march to meet Ampora.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for those of you still reading Warstuck; the kudos mean a lot! Even just 6 feels pretty good!


	5. Intermission 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I definitely would like to do something serious. Not like a love story, but serious like maybe a gangster or a mobster. A gang or a mob movie would be great."
> 
> -Jason Mewes

The transport plane hummed gently, a few rogue wind gusts rocking the cabin a bit. On this plane sat a group of four. Spencer “Spades” Slick, Desmond “Diamonds” Droog, Cole “Clubs” Deuce, and Harvey “Hearts” Boxcars. Friends since childhood, these four pushed small-time for the mob during the mid 30’s. Unfortunately for them, when the war started they were busted during a small jewelry heist. Normally such robbers would just go to jail but, due to the nature of the crime and the luck that no one had gotten injured (much to Slick’s dismay) the police force had a different idea; send them to the Army.

During their crimes they’d acquired a nickname; “The Midnight Crew”. Most mobsters actually find it kinda weird and cheesy but most are a little too afraid to say so (to the Crew’s face that is). Point and case...

This is The Midnight Crew, and they’re hijacking this story.

 

Slick leaned casually against the wall of the plane, polishing his favorite switchblade. Technically one wasn’t allowed to bring their own blades into bootcamp, but (as Droog puts it) Slick insisted they let him bring his favorite knife. While leadership was a bit unofficial, one would note that Slick often gave the orders. Slick knew many ways to kill a man and exercised all methods.

Droog sat next to Slick, a copy of Grey Ladies in his hands. He flipped smoothly through the pages. He didn’t appear to speak much, merely sat and… Plotted? Honestly, most people aren’t sure what this smooth and cunning gentleman has on his mind half the time. Droog was often recognized as the second in command, though on many occasions he’d go over Slick’s head. Droog prefered more close quarters type combat, but not TOO close. He never quite enjoyed bloodying his fine attire. Such a mess.

Deuce sat next to Droog, currently twining cloth (probably for a stick of dynamite) around his fingers in a cat’s cradle. He was the youngest and also smallest of the group, but boy did he know his way around a stick or two of blamo-powder. Deuce was, in short, the demolitions expert of the crew. And the most childish.

Last but not least, Boxcars. He sat next to Deuce, a mountain of a man, polishing his BAR. The thing was already sparkling clean but Boxcars always insisted on cleaning it anyways. He followed whoever gave orders and was the designated brute of the group, not to mention packing the muscle to whip the larger firearms around like they were toy guns.

Sergeant Little stood from his seat, grabbing hold of one of the leather straps hanging from the ceiling of the plane. “Alright, everyone listen up.” Little began. The Crew turned their attention toward the lanky sergeant. “You are all officially apart of Operation Torch in an effort to control French Africa, and unofficially apart of Operation Green House. For those of you who were not updated on this prior to your boarding of this craft, Operation Green House is an unofficial operation made up of a small task force- that’d be us- to hunt down an ominous Nazi special operations group codenamed The Felt. The Felt consists of 15 members, each bearing a number and a respective codename. Here we go…”

Little adjusted his stance a bit and took a clipboard from who appeared the second in command. He cleared his throat and began. “Number one, is ‘Itchy’. He’s a fast lil’ cuss and has escaped capture over eight different times. Number two is Doze. Honestly, he’s a bit of a chronic screw-up. He, opposite to Itchy, has been captured multiple times. However he’s excellent at resisting interrogation and is often broken out of capture before we can get information out of him. Kinda irritating, not gunna lie. Third is Trace. Trace is to our knowledge one of the more crafty ones when it comes to battlefield situations and assassinations. He’s probably working very closely with the leader. Number four is Clover. Clover is also counted as one of the more wise guys. Luck and this guy are practically best buds; he’s dodged multiple assassination attempts. Also, wherever Clover is, number fourteen is never far away.

“Number five is Fin. Bit of a grunt, he’s more of an assistant of Trace, perhaps a bodyguard, they’re never far from each other. Number six is Die. To be frank, this guy is the scariest son of a bitch listed with The Felt. He’s part of Hitler’s paranormal division and usually travels alone. In fact we’ve found he’s not quite a fan of the rest of The Felt. We’ve got little info on him other then that. Number seven is Crowbar. He’s a bit of a jack of all trades and the man is cunning like you wouldn’t believe. He’s got the presence of a mastermind and we predict he’s the leader of The Felt. Number eight we have little information on. All we know is that it’s a woman who seems to dabble in all the Felts’ affairs. We predict she might be an assistant to Crowbar, but we’re not sure. She’s been codenamed Sn0man.” Slick seemed to shuffle a bit. An ominous shifty gal… It’ll be fun hunting her down, he thought.

Sergeant Little went on. “Number nine, Stitch. He can be recognized by the long scar from his right jaw up across his eye and all the way to his scalp. He’s believed to be the medical professional of the Felt and has a doctorate in medicine. He’s also worked in Hitler’s paranormal division as well; he and Die were recruited together but don’t appear to have much of a close relation. Number ten is Sawbuck, big ol’ SOB. He’s most likely the military instructor of The Felt, sent in to oversee military operations on the front lines. No doubt anytime you get dropped in a warzone it’ll be Sawbuck seeing to your demise. Number eleven, Matchsticks. He’s the getaway specialist and the… Problem fixer of The Felt. He deals with loose ends and usually coordinates rescues of Felt members in a jam. No doubt you’ll be seeing him soon.

“Next up as number twelve is Eggs. Honestly, the man is a complete fool but he knows how to rally ambushes. And we know for sure he works in coherence with number thirteen, Biscuits. Biscuits has been known to work with Eggs in setting up ambushes by making sure their target stops moving in the first place. Think of the two as a part of your healthy morning breakfast ‘cause you’ll be eating these two up in Africa. Their presence here is confirmed as of two days ago. They’ve been making sure that our push through Africa is a slow one. On to number fourteen, Quarters. Quarters appears as Clover’s bodyguard but sometimes the guy just kinda disappears off the face of the earth. We’ve noticed no other tasks with him except that he appears to be number four’s lap dog, and has one helluva bite. Finally we have Cans, number fifteen. Cans is, by far, the most brutal extension of The Felt. We’ve gotten reports of him- and I quote- ripping the heads off of French soldiers and throwing the heads so hard they hit their target like a cannonball. He’s almost always on the frontlines and is, in short, The Felt’s brute. If you see him, forget about any honor you may hold because Cans will rip your goddamn head off. If you don’t believe me, read the dossier.”

Slick slowly raised his hand like he was going to ask a question. The sergeant knew what he was going to ask right away and responded before his hand got all the way up in the air. “I mean off Corporal Slick, O F F off.” Slick slowly lowered his hand. The sergeant looked around. “You’ll be briefed in more detail when we touch down. Our reports show that Eggs and Biscuits are in Africa for sure but expect to see Sawbuck once you get deeper into enemy lines, maybe even Trace and Fin. Understood?” The soldiers all gave a simultaneous “hoorah”. Sergeant Little nodded. “Good. Now get your packs ready. And one more thing; I’ll be your C.O. in the hunting of The Felt. If you ever find yourself contacting me via radio, use this codeword before speaking of The Felt; Mansion. If we’re in person, that’s a different story. You’ve all got your groups of four. You’ve all been briefed on our standard military objectives; we’re hitting Oran. Welcome, officially, to the 509th Parachute Infantry Regiment. Dismissed.”

 

Eggs stared slack jawed (it seemed he was always slack jawed) at the pair of cards in his hands, Biscuits across the table, Fin and Trace to their right and left, everyone dawning a hand of cards. Eggs moved his lazy eyes across everyones faces, looking for a slip up. Finally with sheer confidence, Eggs laid down his cards. An ace of spades, a seven of hearts, a two of hearts, some business card for a local bar, and a piece of paper with a smiley face on it. “Go fish.” Eggs said in stride.

Fin slammed his hands down on the table, throwing his cards in every which direction. “FOR THE LAST TIME, WE’RE PLAYING POKER GOD DAMN IT!” he screamed.

 

 

The planes engines roared. Outside the windows of the plane, Droog could see the sun was just peering over the horizon. An African morning. The three groups of four gathered at the side of the plane. Little unlatched the small exit door and gave it a yank. The door hissed open and wind quickly flooded the plane. The Crew stood in a row; Slick, Droog, Deuce, then Boxcars, the second and third squads horizontal to them. Little grabbed a metal bar to his left and began to count down. “Three! Two! One! Go, go, go! Take that airfield!”

Slick ran forward and lept from the plane. He briefly did a front flip before steadying out and dropping down. Droog merely walked casually to the edge of the doorway and stepped one foot off, paused for a moment, then slowly leaned out of the plane (looking as smooth and nonchalant as possible, which for Desmond Droog was very possible). Deuce skipped to the edge of the door and leaped with glee into the wind. Finally, Boxcars shuffled along, BAR in arms. He cautiously approached the doorway, glancing out of it a bit. Boxcars looked a bit cautious and was showing signs of retreating. Little put his hand on Boxcars back and gave him a small push. Boxcars slowly tipped out of the plane and then tumbled out, yelling like a mad man until his screams were distant from the plane. “Alright, next squad!” Little commanded.

The Crew got semi-near each other and pulled their chutes. Once the parachutes leveled out, each prepared their weapon. Slick bore a stockless trench gun, a bandolier of shotgun shells across his chest. Droog cocked his Thompson, hugging it to his chest as he patiently fell to the earth. Deuce hugged his bazooka to his chest, even though the thing was damn-near as big as he was. And of course, Boxcars held the BAR in one hand, angrily huffing as he fell suspended by his chute.

Deuce looked around as he clutched his steel tube-o’-boom. “It’s kinda dark!” he said over the low roar of wind. “How are we going to know where we’re landing!”

“We’re not.” Droog said. “That’s wh-”

“That’s why we’ll need to find each other afterwards.” Slick interrupted. Droog slowly drooped his eyebrows. What a ‘leader’, Droog thought.

The fall was a long and slow one. In the distance they could make out the other two squads tasked with The Felt descending with them, and beyond them the rest of the paratroopers whose main goal was to take the airfields at Tafraoui and La Sénia. 

 

Sawbuck sat in a chair far too small for him in the dug in beach bunker, polishing his trenchknife. The door of the room burst open, three French rebels filing in. They aimed their MAS-36s at Sawbuck, one of them barking orders in French. Sawbuck stood up slowly, towering over the three Frenchmen. The one directly in front of Sawbuck slowly ceased his orders and looked up. “Aie pitié de moi.” the resistance member muttered under his breath just as Sawbuck rose his knife into the air.

 

Slick’s boots hit the ground with a thud. He stumbled forward a bit but caught himself. His parachute began to fall to the ground when slick took the knife from his boot and slashed it through the air, cutting all the strings from the chute in one solid go. He then quickly gathered the cloth, bound it together with the cut twine, and shoved it in a bush. Slick cocked his shotgun and looked around, attempting to find where the other three had landed. Due to the plains-like terrain it wasn’t too hard to do that. Tiny black blips fell all around the field surrounding the airfield. Judging by how there was no alarm, it appeared that-

Droog was just storing his parachute away when the siren in the airfield rang. German soldiers ran frantically, setting up search lights and prepping the airfields defense. Droog felt a pat on the back of his shoulder. He looked back to see Deuce and Boxcars. Where the hell was Slick?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Slick yelled as he ran around like an ant being squashed. The searchlight was flying every which way around him, narrowly putting him in their MG’s view. He spotted a bit of a natural trench and dove for it just as the spotlight got his position. The German gunner, seeing the flash of olive go into the trench, turned his MG on the trench and…

Droog watched flashes of red as gunfire erupted, aimed at some sort of trench. Then a familiar “fuck fuck fuck” filled his ears. Slick was in that hole. “Fuck.” Droog said calmly.

 

Eggs, Biscuits, Fin and Trace looked up from their card game as the sirens rang out. “Shit. Everyone with me, we gotta start the plane and get Sawbuck’s battle plans out of here.” Trace barked, sitting up quickly from the table. He drew his two Lugers and began running outside the small bunker into the open runway, then making his way for the hangers. Fin followed closely behind, Eggs and Biscuits sorta bouncing’ along behind them.

 

Boxcars set up his BAR on a rock and began to take aim at the gunner. Droog and Deuce got ready to sprint. Boxcars began firing. The German gunner took a bullet right through the eye, the side of his head exploding into red chunks and mist, his helmet clanking off the gunner tower. Boxcars turned his gun on the spotlight operators next. Once the MG ceased firing, the paratroopers began to advance. Deuce and Droog lept into the trench with Slick. Slick was gritting his teeth, angrily clutching his shotgun. “Ready to move boss?” Droog said, cradling his Thompson. Slick nodded and Droog turned back toward Boxcars. “Reload and get over here, we’re pushing!”

German pilots, engineers, and anyone who didn’t want to get executed kneeled by crates and dug-ins near the trench, shooting anything they could find. The fence flashed with yellow bursts as the paratroopers charged. The Crew made their way toward the gunner tower, the large wooden structure leaving little room for anyone below it to take cover and therefore a scarcely populated entrance. Droog looked over Slick’s shoulder as they ran, seeing an enemy soldier approaching the gun, pulling what was left of the last gunner off the gun.

Just as the gunner grabbed hold of the MG, Droog dropped to one knee and shouldered his Thompson. With a quick burst, Droog fired. A trail of red splotches went up from the new gunners ribs to his throat, sending a gargled scream as he tumbled off the gunner tower into the dirt with a crunch. Droog quickly rose and joined his squad mates, reaching the gate. Deuce pulled out a set of wire cutters and began weakening part of the fence for Boxcars to kick in.

 

Trace opened the side door of the He 111G-5, tossing a briefcase inside. “Eggs, Biscuits, inside. The pilots will take you far enough away- Make SURE no one gets these documents, do you understand?”

Biscuits stammered a bit, looking side to side in his usual stupid way. Fin walked up and grabbed Biscuits and Eggs by the collars, slamming them into the side of the plan. “He asked if you understood!!!” Fin barked. Eggs and Biscuits both nodded quickly.

Fin let go of them as Trace drew one of his Lugers again. “Good. Now get in the plane, we’re going in to assist Sawbuck.” Trace said as he turned to walk away. Fin snorted a bit before joining him. Eggs and Biscuits clammered into the He, the pilots at the front of the plane starting up the engines.

 

Deuce clipped the last bit of metal and stepped away. Boxcars roared and launched his foot out, busting a small part of the gate down. Droog and Slick went in first, taking cover behind some crates. Deuce cradled his bazooka and joined up behind them, Boxcars grabbing his BAR off the dirt and kneeling near them last. They watched as the rest of the paratroopers made their ways near, up, and over the fences. It was a bit more quiet on this side now. Slick looked over at Droog. “Alright smartass, where do you propose our targets are?”

Droog blinked as he glanced at the runway. He grabbed the top of Slick’s head and turned it a bit to face what he was staring at. There Slick saw the easily recognizable Eggs and Biscuits clammering into a plane, two other figures Slick could only guess as to be Trace and Fin turning to part from them. Slick slowly looked back at Deuce with a grin. Deuce cocked his head to the side, a bit confused. “Why are you l…” Deuce’s eyes went wide as he looked at his bazooka. A stupid grin crossed his lips as he looked back at Slick. Slick nodded.

 

Eggs sat clutching the briefcase as Biscuits leaned against the side of the plane, his hands shaking. The pilots began pulling onto the runway, a few stray bullets striking off the plane. This only made Biscuits shake more. The pilot adjusted his grip on the plane’s controls, the He 111G-5 beginning to pick up speed. It went faster and faster, nearly to the end of the runway when the co-pilot looked back a bit to see a flash of yellow shooting toward the plane. “What ze Hell is th-”

The side of the plane exploded in a red and yellow burst of (joy) fire, the force launching the craft into the air for a short while. It glided off the runway a bit, over a few dunes and then came crashing back down into the sand, scarcely hidden from view.

 

Slick could see the flicker. “Excellent shot Deuce! You and Droog go and clean up that mess, Boxcars and I are going to chase down Fin and Trace.” Droog nodded, Deuce reloading the bazooka. Boxcars changed the magazine on his Bar, Droog, his Thompson. Reloaded, the Crew parted. There were no need for goodbyes.

Slick and Boxcars crossed the runway, ignoring the few pot shots taken at them. “Look! They’re getting away!” Boxcars boomed, aiming his finger toward the horizon where Slick could just make out the shape of a jeep, rocketing down the dirt path.

Slick bore his teeth, looking around for a vehicle. He saw another jeep near the fence. “Let’s take that one, I’m drivin’!” Slick said, running up to the jeep. Boxcars jogged behind but paused when a potshot whizzed close enough to his neck so that he could feel the heat. Boxcars made a low grumble and turned toward the two Germans taking shots from behind a few crates. Boxcars leveled the BAR at his hip, facing it toward them. They tried to get up and run but, to their dismay, were too late. The BAR rang out, hot metal tearing through the two soldiers bodies, splotches of red flying through the air and splattering the ground before the two hit the ground with a tumbling thud. Boxcars lifted the barrel of the gun up a bit, huffing, then moving back to Slick’s side.

 

Droog moved across the dark open plains, Thompson shoulder and aimed forward at the top of the dune. Deuce followed behind, bazooka cradled in his arms. The sun was just starting to spread some light on these African plains. “You stay at the top of the hill and aim that big boom-can at the plane. I’ll head in, mop up any survivors, grab what ever intelligence I can scavenge and regroup with you.” Droog said professionally. Deuce made a confirming “mhm” in response.

Droog got to the top of the hill and quickly dropped prone. The plane’s nose was buried in the dirt, it’s tail sticking up a good few feet into the air. Fire and debris was scattered everywhere, the ground scorched. No bodies appeared to of made it outside of the plane. Satisfied, Droog stood and made a tactical approach to the door of the plane while Deuce set up his bazooka on the top of the crater. Just as Droog was approaching the door it flew open. The pilot, covered in soot and blood, hung out the side aiming his Luger point-blank at Droog’s head.

Droog reacted quickly, sending his Thompson up at the mans extended arm. The metal and wood hit the pilot’s forearm, sending it into the side of the plane with a sickening crack, the Luger flying off onto the other side of the tail. The pilot screamed as he clung to the doorway. Droog took a step back and brought the Thompson to his hip, the barrel leveled with the screaming pilot. Droog held the trigger, blazing gunfire at the man. The pilot was thrown back into the door hinge, his shoulders and head jerking with each .45 that entered his chest. After a good 15 shots Droog ceased, the pilot slump out of the plane and tumbling face first into the sand.

Droog brought the Thompson up a bit, blowing the smoke from the barrel. Droog grabbed the pilots boot, throwing it outside of the doorway before climbing in himself. Oh god, the smell. Droog covered his mouth with one arm, holding the machine gun with the other. The scorched black interior was coated with a maroon and crusted substance Droog could recognize (by sight and by smell) as blood. However, a perfectly intact head lay on the floor, it’s face still gawking a dumb expression. Biscuits. Droog couldn’t help grinning a bit. The poor son of a bitch was sitting right up against where Deuce’s bazooka hit. Probably didn’t even feel a thing. Droog shimmied up to the cockpit. The copilot was skewed against the broken glass, a rather large piece impaled through his throat. Well, no way he was coming back from-

“Droog!” Deuce’s voice rang out. “Droog come out here, quick!”

 

The jeep hit each clump of sand and rock with force, the axial squeaking and squealing, but the thing held together like the blows were nothing. “Gotta love German engineering!” Slick hollered as he sped after Trace and Fin’s jeep. With only 5 miles between Oran and the runway, the city was already within sight, the echoing explosions and pillars of smoke in the distance obviously signaling that the beach assault was underway.

Boxcars was leaned against the dashboard, his BAR extended. As they made their way to a more paved road, more and more of the shots would actually hit the jeep instead of veering off into the desert.

Fin grunted as Trace drove. He turned in his seat to aim back at Slick and Boxcars, MP40 in hands. “Shit, duck!” Slick said. The two lowered their heads below the dash as a few bursts erupted from Fin’s gun. The right rear view mirror exploded off the side of the car, a few more bullets smashing through the windows, the remainder hissing by like bursts of death. Boxcars roared angrily and rose up above the dash while Fin began to reload, firing off the last three rounds in his BAR.

The first shot hit Fin in the arm, tearing a chunk of flesh off it and launching him into the dashboard, the MP40 flying out of his hands and outside the jeep. The next two went through the windshield and struck the engine. There was a loud sputter. Trace grit his sharp teeth, staring at the smoke now rising from the engine. “Damn it, damn it! Fin are you ok!?” Trace yelled.

Fin rose a bit, holding what was left of his right bicep. “We’re going to have to stop… And fight these lucky grunts…” Fin muttered up at Trace. With a sigh, Trace nodded. He jerked the wheel to the right and quickly dug the jeep off the road and into a small dune, creating a bit more cover for them. Trace kicked open his door and grabbed Fin by the collar, dragging him out, Fin yelling and snapping in pain.

“Shit, they’re pulling over!” Slick said as he peeled his own vehicle off the road, turning it so it’s broadside faced Fin and Trace’s car. Boxcars opened the door and fired a few more fresh shots from the BAR to keep Fin and Trace down while Slick slid over the hood. Trace tipped a bit from his cover to fire a few shots at Boxcars. One shot knicked the top of his helmet, sending it flying off the top of his head. Boxcars threw himself down into the car’s cover, breathing heavily.

Trace looked over at Fin as he returned to his own cover. “How are you holding up my friend?” Trace asked, leaning out of cover to fire in the general direction of Slick.

Fin grit his teeth, sticking his finger in the bullet wound for a moment, only seeming to hiss a bit at the pain it generated. “It’s through and through,” Fin began. “I can fight. Shall we ‘shark’ them?”

Trace recognized the term. The two and their odd obsession with sharks and similar predatory marine life led them to rename the tactic of “flanking” as “sharking”, a maneuver sharks would often do when attempting to corner and/or confuse their prey. Trace quickly turned as Slick was just rising, emptying his magazine in Slick’s general direction, forcing him back down into cover. Trace emptied the magazine out of his gun and slid a fresh one in, cocking the Luger. He drew his spare side arm and offered it to Fin. “We shall not die today by some American grunts!”

“I heard that!” Slick barked, turning from his cover for a moment to fire a burst from his shotgun at the jeep.

 

Droog ducked under the lifted tail of the plane to see what Deuce had been hollering about. After trailing Deuce’s gaping eyes Droog finally found the blood trail. It went from the hole in the plane, up the crater and over it. Droog walked belong side it, popping the clip on his Thompson out whilst doing so. Felt like it had another good 10 or so rounds left. He popped it back in and began to step up the hill. Finally reaching the top he looked down into another dune opposite the plane landed in. There he saw Eggs, dragging him self across the sand, briefcase in hand, bleeding like a stuck pig.

 

Trace and Fin charged from opposite sides of the jeep. Every time Boxcars or Slick tried to rise up and take them out while they were in the open, Trace’s Luger would give them a brief reminder of their mortality. Slick and Boxcars sat back-to-back, their guns poised to shoot once Trace or Fin came into view. There was a brief moment of silence before Trace came sliding over the hood. Slick tried to raise his shotgun up to aim but Trace moved too quickly, his boot finding it’s jaw across Slick’s mouth. Boxcars tried to turn but Fin rounded just as fast, launching himself at Boxcars, knocking the BAR out of his hands and under the jeep.

Slick rubbed his cheek as Trace stood over him, aiming his Luger down at Slick’s head. As Trace pulled the trigger, Slick sweeped his leg across the sand into Trace’s ankle. The pistol’s bullet narrowly missed Slick’s head as Trace fell into the ground. Slick scrambled to his knees and went to pounce on Trace. As he lept Trace pulled his trigger again; a hot and burning pain filled Slick’s left shoulder but he didn’t seem to mind much. Slick threw himself at the Luger, knocking it far away, before moving to sit on top of Trace.

Meanwhile, Boxcars held Fin's arms by their wrists, keeping the fierce assassin at bay. The two struggled fruitlessly for a bit until Fin positioned himself a bit next to Boxcars and began kneeing him in the ribs. With each blow Boxcars felt his ribs cracking and loosening. With a roar Boxcars let go of Fin’s wrists and grabbed his throat, slamming his head with a good metallic conk into the jeep. The rocked Fin held his head in his hands as Boxcars slid his legs from under Fin, launching them back into Fin’s chest, sending the Felt flying off into the sand. Boxcars got to his feet as Fin did and began to charge.

 

Droog walked smoothly and calmly up to Eggs as Deuce took position on the top of the small hill behind him. Eggs glanced back to see Droog and a look of panic ensued across his blood-splattered face. He began to crawl faster and faster. Droog spent little energy keeping with Eggs’ pace. After a short chase, Droog approached Eggs side and send his boot hard into Eggs’ ribs. The young Nazi yelped in pain and rolled over on his back, arms wrapped tight around his sides, knees recoiling up into the air a bit. The briefcase lay in the sand next to him.

Droog stood over Eggs’, staring down at him with a stoic look, Thompson relaxed in his arms. Eggs’ coughed loudly as he regained the air Droog’s boot had sent out of him. After a brief fit, he spoke. “Please! No kill me!” Eggs’ pleaded. His English must not of been all that good. “I have money, Felt have money! You hunt Felt right? Let Eggs go, or take prisoner! Take briefcase, it is all yours! Pl-”

Eggs’ pleading was abruptly ended by ten .45 rounds; five into his chest, one into his throat, two into his head, and two final shots into his belly. Eggs lay across the sand, blood splattered across his corpse. Droog avoided the maroon pool making it’s way around the young Kraut, reaching over to grab the briefcase. Secured, Droog calmly released the magazine from the M1 Thompson, letting it fall to the sand, as he grabbed another from his pouch. He slid it into the gun, cocking a fresh round in. Deuce watched from the ridge, staring in awe.

Droog made his way up the hill and relaxed a hand on Deuce’s shoulder. “Let’s go find Slick.” he said emotionlessly.

 

Slick screamed as he rose Trace into the air by his shirt, charging and slamming the man into the hood of the jeep. Trace groaned in protest as Slick held him against the hood. Trace brought his knee under Slick’s ribs, knocking the wind out of him. With the loosened grip, Trace jumped up and rocketed his fist across Slick’s jaw, sending the American into the dirt. Trace drew a knife from his belt; it bore a golden eagle on the hilt of the knife, the blade’s edges a dagger in style, 5 inches of steel.

Boxcars and Fin stood with their fists up, walking in a circle, waiting for the other to punch. Finally Boxcars threw his arm at Fin’s head, Fin ducking under the blow to send a good punch into Boxcars stomach. Boxcars groaned and launched his elbow down into Fin while he was still near, his elbow cracking into Fin’s spine. Fin fell face first into the sand, sprawling and twitching. Boxcars shuffled over and placed his boot on the back of Fin’s neck. Fin kicked and clawed at the sand, trying to move away. With one swift twist of his boot, the vertebrae in Fin’s neck twisted out of place with a subtle and muffled pop.

Slick held Trace’s wrists, the eagle crested blade hovering over his chest. The two made short gaks and grunts, an eerie silence otherwise hovering around them as Slick forced with all his strength to avoid the steel from puncturing his heart. “It is… Time for you to die… Spencer ‘Spades’... Slick… Born in Sicily… Raised in Queens…” Trace said as he grinned widely.

Rage consumed Slick as the Nazi he’d never met before now named off personal information about him. They fucking had him. Slick roared as he pulled the blade right. It cut through Slick’s arm a bit but he didn’t seem to care. With the blade now in the sand, Slick sent a strong jab into Trace’s throat. The kraut began to gag, removing his hands from the blade to hold his Adam’s apple. Slick grabbed Trace’s collar and threw him into the sand beside him, crawling on his lap as Trace had done seconds before. Trace used one free hand to try and grab and claw at Slick’s throat to no avail as Slick grabbed the knife from the sand. Slick raised the blade into the air and brought it down.

“Slick.” Stab, stab, stab, stab. “Slick, he’s dead.” Stab, stab, stab, stab. “Spencer.” Stab, stab, stab, stab. Boxcars stood behind and watched as Slick stabbed Trace repeatedly, blood spraying in every direction, the eagle crested knife practically painted red at this point. Trace had died after the first few stabs. Slick didn’t seem to notice. And if he did, didn’t care. “Slick.” Boxcars sighed.

 

Droog saw the flipped jeeps, as well as Boxcars standing over something. Droog slowed the jeep to the side of the road and parked it. “Oh look, Slick is trying to give that man CPR!” Deuce said cheerfully.

Droog looked a bit more closely, slowly bringing his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose. “That’s… Deuce, just get out and tell them we’re ready to go.”

 

Sawbuck climbed into the back of a transport truck, blood splattered across his shirt. The Nazi sitting across from him looked in awe from under his helmet. “S… Sir?” he muttered.

Sawbuck looked down at the soldier, practically casting a shadow over him. “Tell the driver I am ready to evacuate.” The young soldier pushed his helmet up and nodded nervously as he clammered to the window between the back of the truck and the drivers cabin.

 

The invasion force took Oran in stride. Slick returned to the airfields where the other two squads tasked with finding The Felt were ready for their report and had already bagged what was left of Eggs and Biscuits. Droog sat down at the radio, bringing it up to his ear. Everyone else gathered behind him, smiles wide around, Boxcars already busting a crate of booze open. Droog adjusted his collar a bit, pausing for effect. “Mansion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I humbly thank those sticking with this fic. I promise I shan't give up until this thing is finished!


	6. Welcome to the Jungle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The time to take counsel of your fears is before you make an important battle decision. That's the time to listen to every fear you can imagine! When you have collected all the facts and fears and made your decision, turn off all your fears and go ahead!"
> 
> -George S. Patton

The landing craft jostled side to side to side, cold Pacific water splashing into the vessel and, in turn, soaking John, Dave, the Morrison fellow from boot camp, a few grunts and a particularly nervous looking young fellow with Nitram across his shoulder. He looked fragile and his helmet appeared far too large for his head, more fit for work on a base then on the Pacific front.

John clutched the rifle to his chest, the freezing water soaking him to the bone. “When the Hell are we gonna reach the damn b-beach…” John muttered in irritation.

“Yeah man, I’m freezing my tits off here.” Dave said crudely, leaning casually against the landing craft’s wall, rifle strung over his shoulder.

“Can it you two, and look alive! We’re about to land! Grab two crates each and move it up the beach to the camps.” The C.O. on board barked. Dave and John adjusted their helmets and got ready.

The landing craft hit the beach with a muffled thud, the iron door dropping down onto the beach. “Move!” The C.O. ordered. Everyone grabbed two supply crates off the ground and hustled off the boat. John looked with a bit of weariness at the beach. While there were no bodies he could see red blotches in the sand or broken rifles still sitting upright, some half buried. A few days ago, the smell of iron, gunpowder and death would have filled the air. Now the smells were more stagnant and stale but not gone entirely. It was like walking in a graveyard.

Once John and Dave made it into the fenced in F.O.B. the sight wasn’t much better. Injured soldiers littered the place like Italians in Queens; men with bloodied bandages long overdue for a redressing limped around, and those who couldn’t limp sat against any flat surface they could find. Dave brandished his usual emotionless expression but John could feel the bile rising in his throat. The Nitram kid looked like he just walked in on his own conception.

The group dropped the crates off with the other fresh arrivals. The C.O. approached the group, picking up a clipboard from the top of the crates. “Alright, front and center.” he said a bit more calmly now that they were off the boat. The group of eight or so filed out. “Let’s see here… Tavros Nitram. Sean Morrison. Angus O’Mile. Dave Strider. Adam Red. Tom Longhorn…” The C.O. went on to list the rest of the fresh arrivals. “Tavros Nitram, Angus O’Mile, Dave Strider, Sean Morrison, and John Egbert. You are under a Staff Sergeant Dirk Strider’s command.” Dave’s ears perked up at the similar last name. “He’s currently at the front now and has requested immediate reinforcement. From what his radioman’s told me, his squad’s been decimated. No time to debrief you; Morrison, you’re the highest rank. I’m granting you the map; directions to Sergeant Strider’s last recorded position is already documented. Grab your gear boys and get movin’.” 

The C.O. approached Morrison and handed him a map, pulling him aside and speaking to him separately. The Nitram kid just nervously jittered, sitting down against the crates. O’Miles was patiently standing near the others, waiting for orders. John looked over toward Dave. “Hey, that kid looks pretty scared. Should we talk to him? I think they give pep talks before battles. Or something. It’s in the war books my sister sometimes reads.” John said.

Dave looked over at the Nitram kid. “Yeah he does look pretty shaken… Er…” Dave muttered to himself a bit before he approached. The shaken kid looked up, his helmet swiveling a bit on his head. Dave offered a friendly cool-guy smile and extended his hand. “Hey man, I’m Dave.”

Tavros looked up with beady eyes at the hand and swallowed a bit, taking off his helmet. The kid was sporting a mean lookin’ mohawk, or atleast as close to one as you can get under a helmet, Dave thought. “I-I’m Tavros.” Nitram responded, taking Dave’s hand and shaking it gingerly.

Dave smiled down and sat to the left of Tavros, John soon following to sit on the right. “Y’scared?” Dave asked simply.

Tavros thought for a moment before resting his helmet in his lap. He nodded. “Y-Yes. I-I barely passed through bootcamp. I-I was meant to get a desk job or maybe just… I-I dunno, some generals lap dog o-or something. B-But the paperwork got screwed up a-and now I’m here… I-I’m going to die.” Tavros said with a bit of finality.

John frowned and butted in. “Whoah man, we’re not gonna die. I mean we can but we won’t. All we probably have to do is march a bit like we did in bootcamp, find this Dirk-guy and tell him it’s time to come back. We probably won’t even fight.”

“Well, I dunno…” Dave began. “I’m kinda eager to cap some Toj-” Dave saw John was glaring at him and Tavros was becoming uneasy again. “I mean er, what John said. Quick march through the jungle. Might see some bodies but the fight will be long over with, kid.” Dave slapped Tavros across the back. Tavros made a sort of gasping noise as he lurched forward at the pat. ‘Jesus,’ Dave thought. ‘This kid is gonna get eaten alive.’

 

“WE’RE GETTING EATEN ALIVE!” Karkat screamed at Dirk, trying to make his voice heard over the roaring gunfire and explosions.

Dirk was dug behind a tree log, constantly peeking over to blast a few bursts from his Thompson at the treeline. “We’ve gotta hold here Vantas! If we lose this river, Tojo gets a foothold on the F.O.B.!”

“Thhir!” Sollux called, huddled over his large back-pack sized radio, dug into a trench made by artillery blasts. “Word from the F.O.B.! They thhending reinforthhmenthh! A few Thhuarths and thhome men, including enough to rethhuply our thhquad!”

Dirk grit his teeth and smiled. “I knew they wouldn’t give up on me! We’re gunna-” Dirk stopped abruptly as a blast of gunfire tore the top of the tree off, buzzing the top of Dirk’s hair. Dirk dove forward and turned on a dime to face where the shots had come from, Thompson raised. There he saw a silhouette through the haze of gunpowder.

Dirk snarled at the figure. “Ampora…” he hissed.

 

John, Dave, Tavros, Morrison and O’Mile marched through the quiet woods. They could hear the main force of tanks and soldiers marching through the jungle on their way to join the front, however their small group of five was tasked to reinforce Sergeant Strider’s squadron with the task of taking out the artillery over the battlefield. Taking out the batteries was a life or death task; no artillery means the tanks would actually make it to the battle instead of turning into a smoldering wreck before they even got to fire. In theory anyways.

Tavros lagged behind the group at first but Dave moved him in front of John and himself. After that they were able to keep him moving at a steady pace. “Are we there yet?” John whined.

“Shut up.” Morrison replied.

 

He was fast, faster then anything Dirk had seen in his life. The katana hissed through the air like death itself. The Japanese officer practically seemed to turn into smoke whenever Dirk would try to stab or slash with his KA-BAR.

Karkat had tried to fire at Ampora but the attempt was futile. When he realized he was only wasting precious ammunition, Karkat grabbed the bayonet from his belt and slid it onto the barrel of his rifle, making sure it was on tight. Rising from his cover, Karkat charged at the figure, bayonet lowered and poised for a stab.

Dirk saw Karkat making his charge. “Vantas, no!” Dirk called. Ampora turned away from Dirk to swing his blade at Karkat’s rifle. The bayonet was cut in half, the end of the blade flying off into the dirt. Karkat stopped short, pausing to stare in awe at the bent steel that was once his trusty knife, slowly moving his eyes to meet Eridan’s. Ampora slashed again at the gun itself, sending the rifle into the dirt. Karkat stood, arms at his side, staring with utter fear at the Japanese Officer.

Ampora approached slowly, doing figure-eights with the blade, creating a sort of shining whirl around him. Mother of Gog. “Prepare to taste blood you-” Ampora began before Dirk let out a war cry. Eridan looked a bit confused over his shoulder, just in time to see Dirk launching for him, it being far too late to counter this attack. Dirk threw his arms around Ampora and tackled him to the ground. Dirk’s KBAR lay where he began his sprint, Ampora’s katana being thrown from his grip during the tackle. Dirk sent a good right hook down toward Ampora’s face, knocking his head into the grassless dirt. Ampora grunted and whipped back, back handing Dirk across the mouth. This stunned Dirk enough for Ampora to get his legs under Dirk. Ampora proceeded to launch Dirk off him and into the dirt, sprawling to move on top to gain the hand-to-hand dominance.

Karkat watched, frozen. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck!? Where was his rifle, what should he do, should he do something at all? Sollux watched his friend freeze up. “Damn it Karkat, get down!” Sollux ordered, a few bursts of rifle fire striking the tree near Karkat as if to reinforce what Sollux was saying. Karkat looked over at Sollux and made a sort of muttering noise before quickly turning to crawl behind a fallen tree, drawing his 1911 while Dirk and Eridan continued to exchange blows.

 

John huffed a bit, rifle strapped to his back. “Gog I hate marching…” he muttered. Dave patted him on the back and gave him a shove forward.

“Come on buttercup,” Dave said. “We just need to hike a l-”

“Guys, d-do you hear that?” Tavros interrupted. Everyone went still for a moment. They could hear the echoing cracks of gunfire in the distance, as well as grunts and screams of anger from two parties.

“Shit- We gotta move.” Morrison said, increasing from a march to a jogging pace. Everyone adjusted their packs and started to match their pace with his, now running through the brush.

 

Ampora laid in to Dirk, sending punch after punch after punch. Dirk was able to block most shots, moving his forearms to send a strike into the ground or at least just graze his skin. As each blow failed to produce the output he wanted, Ampora got sloppy. He reared his elbow back for a large jab and Dirk saw the opening. Dirk swung his fist in an arc upward, Ampora watching helplessly as it flew, Dirk’s fist coldcocked Eridan. Ampora tumbled off of Dirk, rolling a few times before stumbling to his knees, Dirk also shambling about in an attempt to recover.

Ampora got to his feet and charged Dirk once more. Dirk had only begun pushing himself to his knees when Ampora closed in, sending his boot toward Dirk’s ribs. There was an audible crack as the Japanese officer’s boot lifted Dirk a good few inches into the air, sending him to slam back-first back into the ground. Dirk starred in a haze up at the jungle canopy, his chest feeling as though it had been crushed. 

Eridan laughed as he bent over to pick his katana up from the ground. “You fight well American…” Dirk felt the steel press briefly to his throat, then rise to pull his dogtags out of his shirt. Eridan jerked the blade left, yanking the tags from Dirk’s neck and bringing it up to Eridan’s view. “Dirk Strider… I have no doubt I will be seeing you again, Strider.” Eridan said with that devilish smile, tugging the dog tags into his pocket. Eridan roared as he raised the katana into the air, Dirk wincing and closing his eyes as the blade was brought down.

 

John burst through the treeline, rifle barrel raised as he scanned the clearing, Dave taking knee next to him. They both lowered their rifles as they made out what they were looking.

Vantas was holding the sides of his helmet as he leaned against a fallen tree, Sollux barking things into a radio, and whom John assumed was Dirk lying on the ground with a katana jammed into the dirt beside him. He was staring into the sky with a look of pure hatred. Tavros, Morrison, and O’Mile filed out into the clearing while Dave and John approached the sergeant on the ground. Dave slowly kneeled down next to the man, now hearing that the sergeant was breathing in short aggravated bursts. “... Sir…” Dave began.

“Are you my reinforcements.” Dirk said in a low tone, emphasizing the start of each word with a slight point of fury.

Dave nodded, taking off his sunglasses. “We’re here to help you take the artillery battery’s. There’s five of us. We’re all fresh out of bootcamp.”

It was only now Dirk noticed that the gunfire from the Japanese had stopped shortly after Eridan had walked from the clearing. Dirk took one final large breath before letting out, sitting up to rest his elbows on his knees. “Alright… Get ready to mobilize.”

 

The reformed squad moved through the jungle, making their way toward the echoing booms of Japanese artillery. Dirk led with Dave and Karkat at his sides, John, O’Mile, and Tavros in a small line behind them, and Morrison and Sollux at their back. “Are you… Are you injured sir?” Karkat asked Dirk in a concerned tone.

Dirk shook his head. “Just my pride Vantas… What about you and Sol?”

Karkat adjusted his shoulder a bit. “Just a bit shaken up, otherwise we’re alright. Sollux is taking it rather well. I can’t understand how you two fucknaughts are so calm after this crap. Even the rookies are shaking in their boots.”

“Well of course they’re scared,” Dirk said with a laugh. “They’ve never seen a man die yet.”

Dave cleared his throat a bit. “You two jack-asses know I’m still here right?”

John looked over at O’Mile and Morrison. “Where are, uh… You two from?” John asked in an attempt to start conversation, his rifle nestled in his folded arms.

“Scottsdale, Arizona.” Morrison, offering a small smile as he tipped his glasses further up his nose, holding his rifle in one hand.

“Eagle Pass, Texas.” O’Mile said, holding his rifle in a ready position, a stoic look on his face.

John returned Morrison’s smile. “I’m from L.A. my self. Do you guys have any uh.. Uhm… What did Dave call them… Sweeties? At home? I have a wife my self. Her name is Rose, I can show you a picture once we get back.”

“If we get back…” O’Mile grumbled as he glared ahead down the bath.

John seemed to part his lips, giving O’Mile a sort of feared expression. Morrison gave O’Mile a punch in the arm. “Ignore Captain Pessimism here. He got dumped before joining, girlfriend wasn’t too happy with his decision. I myself haven’t actually ever had a girlfriend… Kinda hopin’ that coming back some… ‘Veteran soldier’ will get me girls, y’know? How did your wife take you leaving?”

John laughed a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck under his helmet. “Not, uh… Not well… At all… She came around in the end but I realize joining up was a serious blow to her. See, I joined because my sister died in Pearl Harbor. She was on one of the ships. And being the ‘noble’ brother I am I wanted to join up and avenge her death. Rose has known my sister and I since we were all kids and… Honestly, I think I was her last friend besides her cousin in Chicago…”

Morrison gave a small frown. “I’m sorry, it must be pretty hard on her. She’ll be fine… And you will too. None of us are dying today.” Morrison gave a wide smile. It was infectious, John thought as he felt his own lips begin to crease. Even O’Mile seemed to be grinning. “Wanna hear a joke?” Morrison asked out of the blue.

John shrugged at the offer. “Sure, why not?”

Morrison cleared his throat. “Alright, so… Have you ever heard of voodoo dick?”

 

 

Tavros shuffled along the brush, clutching the rifle almost as large as him in his arms. Sollux looked over to see him shaking a bit, struggling to through the thick underbrush. “Kid are, uh… Are you ok? You keep on thtumbling around…” Sollux asked, peering down.

Tavros looked up to his right, having to use a free hand to push the helmet up to even see the man next to him. “Uh, y-yeah, I just… The gun is kinda heavy… Uh… Wh-what’s your name again?”

“Thollux Captor, radioman.” Sollux said with a smile.

Tavros raised a confused eyebrow. “Thh-ollux? I thought it was Sollux.” Sollux scoffed a bit, shaking his head. The kid was too innocent and stupid to get mad at.

“I have a lithp, kid. Hey why are you even here anyway? No offenth but you’re hardly the type that uthually want to fight Tojo in the jungle. You look nervous as all Hell.”

Tavros made some odd combination of a whimper and a laugh. “I-I’m not sure why I’m here.. Th-There must have been some sort of paper w-work mixup… Why are you here S-Sollux?”

Sollux’s face twitched a bit. Why was he here? He’d never actually thought about that before. When all the other boys joined up with the army he followed. Thought it was natural. He’d never stopped before to ask exactly why he was so willing to pick up a rifle. “I, er… I dunno. Everyone wath joining the war, thho I guethh I juthht followed. Man, I’ve never even really thought about that before…” he muttered, rubbing his chinstrap.

Tavros nodded slowly, pushing the helmet back up again. “I-I uh… I got drafted… I-I actually had planned to become a doctor or, uh, maybe at least a vet, or… Something... “

Sollux frowned to himself. “Nitram, I… You’ll be fine, ok? I promith.” he offered.

Though his face was hidden by the helmet, Sollux could hear a snicker. Sollux raised an eyebrow. “What’th so funny…” he said in a bit of a grumble.

Now Tavros let out tiny laughs. “Y-You’re lisp is hilarious!”

 

“You little athh hole!” Karkat heard from behind. He glanced back, wondering what the commotion was when Dirk spoke up. “Alright everyone, get your warfaces on, we’re approaching the battery entrenchment.”

John racked a fresh round into his M1903, everyone ducking and making their way into the brush on the side of the path. They moved carefully, the artillery sounding close now. John swore he could even hear a few Japanese voices hollering.

Dirk took a knee once he reached the top of the slope. The others gathered behind him as he turned to face them. “Alright, by the sound of it they’ve got multiple small entrenchments set up. We’re going to have to wait for them to fire their volley and gun them down before the other nearby entrenchments hear. We’re going to be moving fast and swift, if any of you hesitate to fire I will kill you myself. Any mistimed shot will scare off the other entrenchments and that means a LOT of Americans will die another day. Do you understand?”

Everyone nodded collectively, Karkat standing up. “Let’s kill the sons of bitches.” he said with grit teeth. Dirk gave a smile and nodded, turning around and readying his Thompson. 

“Alright… By the looks of it there are two lines of artillery, downhill and uphill. Uphill is here and downhill. Karkat, take Morrison, O’Mile, and Sollux downhill. John, Dave, and Nitram are with me.” Dirk said, wavering a hand to his right. Karkat took his squad and began to hustle down the brush and out of sight.

Dave and John moved to Dirk’s right and left, Tavros behind them, nervously clutching his rifle. Dirk moved up a bit so he had eyes on the entrenchment. The spotter was outside the dug in artillery pit, an easy shot. Three other Japanese were working on the cannon, about to fire a shot off. Finally, two guards were sitting on some crates outside the trench while snacking on some rations. Dirk grinned to himself a bit. “Alright, get ready to advance. Those pieces fire in three second intervals from each other. Once we shoot these ones we bolt for the next, get them before they realize the others aren’t firing. Aim, fire, advance. Got it?” he asked. The three nodded at Dirk. He turned back toward the trench, aiming his Thompson at the two guards.

John readied the rifle in his arms. First day on the island and he was already not only in a battle but poised to take a man’s life… His heart threatened to beat out of his chest. He wasn’t sure he could pull the trigger.

Dave breathed steadily as he readied his rifle’s sights on one of the loaders near the mortar. At this range, a kill would be impersonal. But would it really?

Every bone in Tavros’s body shook as he extended the carbine through the brush, leveling the sights unsteadily with the general area of the howitzer. He gulped, closed his eyes, and waited for the signal.

Dirk breathed out slowly as he began to squeeze his finger back. “Fire.”

 

Gunfire erupted from the brush, four guns firing a blaze of hot metal. The first guard’s chest exploded in a red haze as he was sent into the dirt, the second scrambling for his machine gun as the trained gunfire made it’s way to strike him in the back. The reloader of the gun’s conscious went dark in an instant, a metal TING! from his helmet signifying his death. The gunner looked up in panic as three shots hissed by him. He made for the pistol on his hip, but a single rifle shot landed square on his chest. He fell against the trench walls of the artillery entrenchment, letting out a single gasp as he clenched his eyes shut, slumping limp into the mud.  
The spotter dove into the entrenchment, fear coursing through his veins. “Advance!” Dirk ordered as he burst from the treeline, his sights trained on where the Japanese soldier took cover. John and Dave advanced, both looking a bit distraught but still advancing. Tavros, however, stumbled behind the others, his teeth chattering audibly. Dirk approached the edge of the trench with caution. He got closer and closer before finally the spotter popped out from his cover, unaware Dirk was so close, a pistol extended outward. Dirk launched his foot forward, kicking the pistol out of the spotter’s hand, a second kick into the spotter’s face sending him back against the breech with a loud metallic bang. The spotter groaned as he stared up at the four American soldiers staring down at him.

Dirk rested the Thompson’s barrel at the gunner, waiting in silence for a moment before lowering the gun. “Nitram. During that advance you missed intentionally. Execute this man.”

Tavros blinked a bit, his body going cold. “S-Sir, I d-”

Dirk wheeled back at Tavros “I SAID SHOOT THIS MAN!” Tavros recoiled a bit, his helmet falling back over his eyes as his body convulsed violently in fear. “RAISE YOUR GUN!” Dirk ordered as he grabbed the barrel of Tavros’s carbine, raising it to meet the spotter.

“Watashi wa kōfuku shimasu!!!” the Japanese soldier pleaded with his hands in the air, eyes wide.

Tears poured from Tavros’s eyes as his gun was forced to train on the spotter. “S-Sir pl-please! I-I can’t-”

“SHOOT HIM!” Dirk barked. Tavros winced. “SHOOT HIM! SHOOT HIM! SHOOT-”

Tavros screamed at the top of his lungs as he pulled the trigger again and again. His ears rang with each gunshot, the sight of his actions hidden from sight by his eyelids. It took a bit for Tavros to realize his gun was clicking. Finally, he opened his eyes to first see John and Dave staring slack jawed down at him. He looked to his right to see Dirk staring at the entrenchment, Tavros moving his eyes to meet-

Tavros let out a throaty cry as he stared at the spotter slumped backwards against the cannon, one side of his head opened, the eye hanging by a thread, the other open wide and still staring a haunting glare in Tavros’s direction, the rest of his chest littered with little red holes. Tavros fell to his knees, clutching the carbine in his arms, tears pouring down his cheek. Dirk shook his head and walked past Tavros, making his way toward the next artillery entrenchment. “You are weak.” he said plainly.

John and Dave took a good few extra seconds just to comprehend the situation before moving to join Dirk’s side, constantly glancing back at their broken comrade. Tavros merely stared at the body in front of him, jaw locked tight. John shook his head, groaning quietly to himself. “Jesus Dave… Just…”

“I know bro.” Dave said, resting his hand on John’s shoulder, his jaw clenching a bit as he walked up to Dirk. “What the hell was that? He’s just a fucking kid.”

Dirk didn’t look back as he responded, resting his Thompson on his shoulder. “There are no kids here, Dave. There are only men and the dead. He will become a monster like the rest of us or he will perish.” Dirk’s tone was dark but full of wisdom, a wisdom Dave perhaps wasn’t looking to accept.

Dave shook his head and filed back next to John. Dirk popped the magazine out of his Thompson, checking the weight of it to guess how many rounds were left. “Two more trenches to go. Let’s move!” He said, slapping the magazine back in the gun and sprinting through the brush as the next trench came into view. Dave and John sighed, then advanced.

 

Sollux cracked the stock of his M1 across the gunners jaw, sending him into the dirt. He steadied his carbine at the downed man and put two rounds through his shoulder blade, both making it through the heart. With a subtle jerk, he was dead. Sollux looked back to see O’Mile finishing off the spotter of their last artillery entrenchment, Karkat undoing his helmet and moving to rest on a supply crate, Morrison turning over bodies to make sure they were dead. O’Mile rotated his shoulders a bit, walking back more leisurely to Sollux, snuffing a bit. “Trench is down sir, our work is done. What are our orders now?”

Sollux set the radio down on a crate in the trench. “Make thure none of them pop out of the woodth, I think that Dirk and hith team have the higher gunth taken care of.” O’Mile nodded and began to scan the treeline. Sollux made sure he was on the right frequency and grabbed the radio’s phone piece. “Thith ith Corporal Thollux Captor, we have taken out the artillary pothitionth and are awaiting further orderth.”

There was a pause before a voice came back. “Roger that Captor, inform your commander to hold the hill a while. You’re a ways behind the front, so it may take a little. Should be quiet though for you boys, we’re pushing quick.”

“Roger that, Captor out.” Sollux said as he put the receiver back on the radio. Morrison dropped into the trench, taking a seat on one of the crates as he took his canteen from his belt. 

“So? What did they say?” he asked, taking a swig from his canteen.

Sollux joined him on an adjacent crate, grabbing a Bit-o-Honey bar he’d been rationing, taking a nibble of the stubborn candy. “We hold here while they thend thome people to wrap up thethe cannonth tho we can uth them later or thomething.”

Morrison nodded, taking one final swig of the canteen before capping it and stowing it away. “I wonder how the others are holding up.”

 

Dirk watched as the grenade he threw hurtled through the air from the treeline, falling into the entrenchment. He saw one of the gunners glance back at what the noise was, his voice seeming to break into some sort of surprised warning before a ball of fire erupted from the trench, anyone in the trench vaporized, any soldier near the trench blasted into bits. The ground shook so hard John stumbled back on his ass, clutching his rifle as a wave of heat roared through the jungle around him. Once the leaves settled, the ground stopped shaking, and all that remained was a pillar of smoke rising up into the sky, Dirk merely spat on the ground before standing up. “That, boys, is why you don’t leave your ordinance ammo so close together.”

Dirk made his way to the trench to make sure the dead were in fact dead as Dave heard ruffling behind him. He turned around to see Tavros shuffling toward them, head low, dragging his carbine by the barrel behind him, tears still clinging to his chin. Dave frowned a bit, walking up to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Hey Nitram… We’re all done here buddy. Let’s go home to the F.O.B. ok?” Dave offered with a brotherly tone. John merely watched in eerie silence. The past hour was a mess.

Tavros remained silent, merely staring at the ground. Dave only kept his frown as he hooked his arm around Tavros and walked him out of the brush slowly. “It’s… Gonna be ok bud…”

Dirk walked back to them after finding what was left of the artillery crew. “Alright, let’s rendezvous with Sollux, they’ve probably made it to their last emplacement by now.” he proposed, not even glancing at Tavros’s arrival.

“Sooner we get out of here, the better.” John said, taking a last look at the remains of the trench before making his way after Dirk.

Dave looked over at Tavros, waiting for a response. After a brief silence, Tavros sniffled and nodded, walking in the direction John went, Dave following.

 

“So… How did it feel for you?” Tavros asked, clutching a warm cup of coffee in his hands, beady eyes staring. He’d calmed down a lot since the battle.

“How did what feel?” Dave asked, polishing his rifle, looking up at Tavros. He could see John in the background, scarfing down an MRE. That son of a bitch could eat.

“To… Kill someone.” Tavros said in a squeak, lowering his lips to the coffee.

Dave was confused at the question first. He killed people today? Oh. Right. “It was… I honestly feel kind of indifferent. I mean, I watched them drop but… There was so much gunfire I… I was a bit afraid for my life and looking at the bodies made me feel a bit guilty but in a way it was... Fun.” Dave could see Tavros’s face clench at the word. “Not a ‘fun’ I’d do if I had a choice though… It’s a wrong kind of fun. Like licking a fresh cake. Sure, you got some sweet-ass sugar in you but now your mom has to slave over a damn oven all day to get another cake ready, and you’re sitting there wondering if you should be happy you got a sweet lick of cake or guilty because you ruined what your mom made. It’s a bitter-sweet feeling… Pun intended.”

Tavros lowered his head a bit to rest his nose on the brim of the cup, thinking to himself. “I-It… Wasn’t impersonal for, uh, me.” he muttered, his eye twitching with the memory. “Did he deserve t-to, uh… To die, Dave?” Tavros asked, looking up at Dave with that Tiny fucking Tim look.

Don’t be Scrooge, don’t be Scrooge, Dave thought. “Do any of us?” he responded.

Tavros made to respond but merely lowered his nose back to the brim of the cup, becoming engulfed in thought.

John let out a belch as he set the finished tray down, rubbing his belly. “Oh that hit the spot…I think I’mma take a walk. Hollar if you guys need me.” John said, clambering out of the tent. Dave gave a small wave, Tavros remained in his coffee.

The air was warm and sticky like LA, John thought as he strolled along the fenceline. The jungle was so dense he could barely see any of it besides the canopy, even with moonlight as bright as it was. Eventually he came to a group of about three guys moving wood to a spot next to the fence. One of the guys looked up to John and waved him down. John hustled over curiously. “Hey, what is it?”

The man dusted his hands off and approached John. “We’re building another sniper tower but we forgot to bring a damn hammer. Mind getting one for us?” he asked.

John nodded with a smile. “Yeah, sure thing, I’ll be right back.” The man thanked him and John walked toward where the storage was kept. They usually had hammers there to open up all the crates, that or a crowbar. Coming closer, a twinkle of iron on top of one of the crates beckoned John over. A hammer! Well, that was easy enough.

John walked up to the crate, picking up the hammer. He held it up to his face, studying the shininess of the tool. It must of been brand new and- OH SHIT! John whipped around just in time to see the figure tackle him. He felt his back smash against the crate as the figure held him by the waist, the hammer clanging off into the distance. John struggled under the weight of the figure as it straddled to gain dominance. Only now did John recognize the Japanese uniform.

The soldier grabbed the knife from John’s waist and drove it down. In a panic, John threw his hands up, the knife’s blade going straight through John’s left hand. Warm drops of blood dripped onto John’s uniform as he stared in utter shock at the black steel protruding through his palm. He gritted his teeth and yanked his hand away with a throaty yelp, the blade still lodged between muscle and bone. He sent his fist out across the jaw of the soldier with an audible crack, knocking him off. John attempted to gain dominance over his attacker, utterly ignoring the throbbing pain making up most of his left arm and hand. The soldier launched his feet out into John’s chest, sending him back across the dirt.

Only now, laying here with the wind knocked out of him, did John take a moment to realize the injury he sustained. Sitting up, he held his left hand up to his face. He grabbed the blade’s handle and began to pull, letting out an animal like cry as the steel slowly made it’s way through his flesh, grinding against his bone. He could feel sharp rips and burns travel up through his nervous system with every inch the blade went. He could see in his peripheral vision the soldier now advancing him, holding the hammer John had dismissed tight in hand.

Just as the soldier reared his arm back to bring the tool down onto John’s head, John yanked the blade fully out of his hand with a gasp, his blood still painting it. He turned the knife’s edge forward and jabbed, catching the soldier directly in the groin. The soldier doubled forward, his jaw hanging open, his eyes open wide and watering. The hammer slipped from his grip to clang to the ground next to John as he held the blade in, pushing it in just a bit, the soldier responding to this movement with even higher pitched gasps. John swiped his leg back, sending the man to the ground.

John grabbed the hammer and clambered onto the downed Japanese soldier. The soldier tried to stop John but only met his advances with weak pushes and grabs. John readied himself, rage burning in his eyes. He rose the hammer into the air and swung. And swung. And swung.

 

Karkat came out of his tent, half his face cleanshaven, the other half still dawning shaving cream. He held the 1911 tight in hand as he approached the cargo area. He rounded a box to where the commotion could be heard. “Alright you shitbirds, hands up and-” he stopped mid sentence at what he saw.

John sat on the lap of a man in a Japanese uniform, the legs still twitching a bit. A KA-BAR bayonet was jammed through the crotch of the man, and… Oh shit. That was enough to even make Karkat gag a bit. Half the soldier’s head was bashed flat, pink and red spraying across the dirt, some bits making their way even to the boxes. John’s shoulders rose and fell like mountains as he gripped the bloodied hammer tight in hand. The world was silent aside from the subtle drip… Drip… Drip… Coming from the hammer, the blood from it now joining the pool surrounding the two.

Karkat stared slack-jawed as he relaxed the grip on his 1911. He approached slowly, resting a hand on John’s shoulder. John recoiled at first, raising the hammer up to swing behind him. Seeing it was Karkat, reality seemed to come back all at once. He slid off the corpse’s lap to fall into the puddle, unaware of what he was sitting in.

Karkat made a sort of odd chuckle as he slumped against a box. He drew a cigarette from his pocket, holding it between his lips as he reached for the pack of matches. John watched him mysteriously, only now coming to realize what he’d done. Karkat swallowed hard and took the unlit cigarette between his fingers. “Welcome… To the Jungle, John… Welcome to Jungle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late upd8. It's been a hectic couple weeks with winter break coming up. I'll be sure to write more soon. Also, I fixed a few continuation issues on this chapter (i.e. totally forgetting Karkat was a character for a while there).


	7. Champagne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it. The crueler it is, the sooner it will be over."
> 
> ~William Tecumseh Sherman

Rose sat at the bar, her fingers lightly gripping the neck of the beer bottle, her other finger toying with the paper flap of the letter labeled only “Rose” with a little heart next to it.

Roxy, Rose’s Cousin, sighed as she leaned in close to Rose. Her breath reeked of vodka and orange juice. “C’mon Rosey, you gotta open that letter sometime... At least he’s alive y’know?” Roxy offered with a playful smile, resting her chest on the counter as she outstretched her arms to hold Rose’s wrists in her warm palms.

Rose’s lips twitched up a bit, her fingers slowly detaching themselves from the neck of the bottle. “You always were the more chipper cousin, Roxy… Are you’re sure I don’t have to pay for these drinks? I can start a tab if I-”

Roxy interrupted by placing her finger on Rose’s lips, making an audible ‘shoosh’ing noise. “It’s nuthin’ Cousin! I worked hard t’own this place and I’ll be damned if my most favorite family member will have to pay for her drinks here! If I drink f’r free, YOOU drink for free. Lalonde’s fer life!” Roxy offered her trademark ear-to-ear smile for Rose, her done up eyes closing in just the softest way.

Rose could feel her cheeks going red as a jolly smile struck her face as well. No one could stay sad for long with Roxy about. “Roxy, you truly are the embodiment of bliss… And ignorance.” Rose said as she pulled her cousin over the bar for a hug, Roxy happily returning it with a… Purr? Oh, right, she did that. Man, Roxy was weird.

Jane, whom Rose only knew as Roxy’s “close friend”, popped her head out from the back room. “Roxy! We’re running a bit low on snacks for the bar and I’m not really sure who you ordered them from.”

Roxy pulled away from the hug with an exaggerated sigh. “Gluuugh, I have to do efferything aroun’ here! Hehe, I’ll be right back Rosey. Go ahead around the back of the bar if you want’nother drink! Is’ oooon me!” Roxy said, placing her thumb to her collarbone before making her way to the back room. Rose could of sworn she saw Roxy’s hand travel a bit… South near Jane before the door closed.

Rose dismissed the thought as the white of the paper below her caught her attention once again. She stared at it for what felt like forever. It may has well have been.

 

Equius struggled to pop the top button into place. With his large fingers and these DAMNED small uniforms, it was near impossible! As he found himself now making audible noises of struggle, two tiny little hands crept around from his side and pushed his larger ones away, taking the button and slipping it into place. Equius sighed and turned to offer a tired smile. “Thank you, Nepeta.”

Nepeta, bearing an oversized green coat Equius had found from the “lost and found” pile, as he’d dubbed it, stretched her arm diagonally from her body into the air in a salute. “Sir yes sir, Equius sir!” Equius took note of the scarf around her neck. It’s original owner had fallen victim to Makara’s wrath about a week ago but Equius had managed to get Nepeta to believe he was merely transferred. He’d do what the old man wanted, however. No matter the cost, he’d protect this little girl. This figure of innocence, this beacon of hope, this-

“Equius? Why are you staring at me like that…?” Nepeta’s voice broke through the one inside his mind. Equius shook his head a bit, adjusting his square sunglasses.

“I er… Come Nepeta, I’ve actually some good news. We’re traveling to the nearest town soon, a… Bit of a road trip.” Equius said as he made his way to his desk, grabbing his Luger off the table.

Nepeta made a happy gasp, clasping her gloved hands together and giving a tiny hop. “Yay! I’m so bored in here. Why are we going?” Nepeta tipped her head to the side.

Equius tightened the belt holding his Luger a bit before grabbing his overcoat- Possibly the only article of clothing he owned that actually fit. “The Scratch fellow you saw the other day? My, er… ‘Boss’? He wants a special bottle of champagne from a nearby town. It’ll be mostly driving.”

Nepeta smiled, still bouncing on her heels. “That’s ok! It smells really funny here… It’d be nice to go for a drive!” she stared up at him with eyes the size of saucer dishes.

Equius could feel beads of sweat form on his eyebrow. “Yes, it… Is quite rank here from time to time…” He tugged his collar and cleared his throat, walking for the door. “Shall we go Nepeta?” he asked, trying to conceal his shaky voice.

Nepeta hopped over to him. “Yeah! But let me open the door, ok? Your palms are all gross and sweaty again, hehe, eww…”

 

Feferi shuffled down the sidewalk, clinging to the overcoat she wore, trying to protect her identity. If her father caught her doing this it would truly be the last straw for her. Making sure she wasn’t followed, she slipped through the ran out building, the cover of darkness making it seem as though she vanished.

Once the door closed, the smell of cigars hit her nostrils like a gunshot. Down a smokey ill lit hallway she could hear talking, yelling, laughing; it was a generic gambling hall if she’d ever seen one (which she hadn’t). She walked down the hall, her shoes making soft pitter-pats on the old wooden floor. As she approached the main den, a burly looking man seemed to step out from nowhere, holding out a hand to stop her. “Halt.” he said plainly.

She made a subtle squeak but collected her self. She looked up to the man’s face, gulping, tightening her lip. “I am here to see The Lord.”

 

Rose sighed. It was night now. Six hours. I’ve been staring at this piece of paper for six hours, she thought. Roxy cleaned a whisky glass behind the bar, eyeing Rose with concern. “Ok I know I said be happy’n all but I’m starting to sober up and you still haven't touched that thing.” Rose glanced up at Roxy, then back at the paper.

“Hm… I suppose you’re right…” Rose drummed her fingers along the bar, nodding. “Ok. You’re right. Would you mind reading it with me Roxy?” Rose asked.

Roxy could hear just the tiniest bit of plea in her tone, and Rose wasn’t one to ask for assistance. She was one of the most stubborn people Roxy knew, and here she was, scared to open a piece of paper. Roxy felt her fear, even if she did not share it. Roxy nodded and set the whisky glass down, crawling over the bar and landing beside Roxy, sliding into a stool next to her. “Alright. Let ‘er rip.”

Rose nodded and picked the paper. With hesitation, she slipped her finger under an open spot and slid it left, tearing the letter open.

 

Nepeta clung to the inside of the car door, her head out the window, hair whipping in the wind. She watched the trees and wildlife in fascination. This place was far less desolate than the camp. Equius had, somehow, successfully managed to hide the truth of the camp from her for so long. Hide the death. Hide the sorrow. Hide Makara and Scratch. Though perhaps, he thought, he was hiding her… Not the world around her.

Equius, crammed in the driver seat like an elephant in a model T, stared at the road ahead. These backroads, once empty besides the occasional weekend picnic outing, were now popular routes for the German military. Thankfully, they merely drove these roads- not burned them to ash as they had others. 

Nepeta fell back in her chair, panting a bit happily as she rubbed her eyes. “Are we there yet?” she asked with a bit of a yawn.

Equius shook his head. “No Nepeta. We still have a ways away. Perhaps about two hours or so.” he clutched the wheel as he craned his neck down to avoid hitting it on the roof. God he wished they had given him a convertible.

Nepeta patted her knees quietly, glancing at Equius on occasion and then bringing her attention back to her knees. Finally she spoke. “Is that old man who gave me the scarf dead?” her tone still had that sort of childish curiosity to it.

Equius felt chills ring down his spine. Where had this come from? Should I lie? Equius thought. “I… Yes, Nepeta. He is dead.” he averted his eyes from her direction, even though they were hidden by the sunglasses.

Nepeta nodded quietly to herself, wrapping the scarf around her wrists and then unwinding them. “Did you kill him?” the childish tone was hindered but sadness did not seem to taint it one bit.

Equius jerked his head to the side. “What kind of question is- No! No no, Nepeta, I did not kill that man. He… Well…”

Nepeta placed a hand on his bicep, looking up at him with large eyes. “Equius, I’m not stupid. We’re at a death camp. I listened to the other gypsies talk about them… I won’t judge you for the things you’ve done to us, and all the others who get sent to these… Places. It’s not your fault.” she wrapped her arms around Equius’s ribs and hugged, a tiny spot of warmth compared to Equius’s size although it burned against him like guilt.

Equius felt his hands begin to shake and his eyes burn. “I… I am so sorry Nepeta… But… I did not… Kill that man. He died, with the others. I did make him a promise though. You will not suffer the same fate they have. I promised him. No harm will come to you...”

Nepeta blunk up at him and after a long silence responded “Why?”

Why? Equius swallowed hard as he adjusted his fingers. He’d been squeezing the wheel so hard his knuckles were turning white. “Because you are just a child. And one who is alone. I saw you arrive without parents… Without friends… Only the old man whom I imagine you only met that day. I could not live with my self to see you die like the others, not you. I am sorry for my selfishness Nepeta. I could not save any but you.”

Nepeta slowly moved back into her chair, twiddling her thumbs as she lowered her head a bit, deep in thought. After a bit, Equius realized this was the end of the conversation. He made a subtle sniffle and decided to go faster. Just a bit faster.

 

Feferi walked obediently as the two men held her arms and walked her through the gambling den. They approached a green door and stopped, one of the men knocking on it, saying something in German. There was a pause before the door opened, a young and very beautiful woman donning a green dress with chopsticks in her hair appearing. She tilted her head to one side. “Who’s this one then?” She asked in Japanese.

“She wishes to speak with The Lord, Handmaiden.” said the one to Feferi’s left.

The girl in the dress sniffled a bit. “Well? Let her come in you oafs. And while you’re at it, get us some tea…” She reached out and took Feferi’s hand gently, leading her inside, ignoring the other two men. “Come young one, I’ll get you comfortable.”

“But Ma’am, we-” one of the men went to say before The Handmaiden slammed the door behind her. She sat Feferi down on an overstuffed couch. The room was rather quaint, darkwood walls and floors, a desk in the corner with a few filing cabinets, dim light filling the room, a radio across the way from the couch and a beautiful ebony coffee table in between them. “So,” The Handmaiden said as she sat down next to Feferi, crossing one smooth leg over the other. “Who are you little girl? And take off that large coat and hat, you’ve no reason to hide your face here. None of these men will reveal your identity.”

Feferi looked at the woman and then glanced at the coffee table. She peeled the overcoat off and took the hat from her head, setting them on the table. Revealed to the Handmaiden was a girl in a pink silk dress that came to the knees with a slit along the leg, much similar to her own dress. The Handmaiden rose her eyebrows, her red lips curling up into the smile of a cheshire cat. “Oh my dear, you are quite the beautiful one aren’t you?”

Feferi flushed and looked to her knees. “I… Your accent, you aren’t Japanese. Where are you from?” she asked in a nervous tone.

The Handmaiden chuckled a bit to herself as she sat back in the chair, reaching into her bra to take out a cigarette tin. “I am from Paris my dear. Your country is very beautiful… Outside of the cities.” she popped the tin open to pull out a rolled cigarette. Feferi took a moment to eye the strange green substance packed inside before The Handmaiden lit the roll. It wasn’t tobacco…

Feferi twiddled her thumbs, looking around the room. “S-So… Who is The Lord?”

The Handmaiden placed the cigarette to her red lips, taking a long drag from it before pulling it away, letting the white smoke roll off her tongue like fog over the ocean. It didn’t smell like tobacco either, Feferi thought. “He is many things dear girl. He is a Nazi… A smuggler… A criminal mastermind…”

The door swung open, a monster climbing through it, the heaviness of his feet rocking the ground beneath him. In the dim lighting, the figures body seemed to cast a shadow across all of Feferi’s vision. “I am what you need me to be.” The Lord’s voice boomed. 

Feferi swallowed loud and stood up, holding her hands in front of her. The Handmaiden took another drag from her “cigarette” and eyed Feferi with interest. The large figure crossed its arms. “Well?” The Lord said in irritated curiosity.

Feferi cleared her throat. “I… I need you smuggle supplies to the islanders on the front lines… And kill Emperor Hirohito.”

There was a brief silence as The Handmaiden and The Lord stared at Feferi in bewilderment. Then The Handmaiden broke out into hysterical laughter, tossing her head back as she laughed at the request. Feferi went red in the face and frowned, squeezing the sides of her dress. The Lord however kept his eyes, hidden by darkness, trained on Feferi. He stepped forward, the walls subtly shaking with each step, until he was in full view of Feferi. He towered over her. She could see now he adorned a large green trenchcoat with a tailored dress shirt underneath, as well as a rather strange golden peg protruding from what must of been an amputated leg. His mouth formed a natural scowl and his odd, almost multicolored eyes stared at her, piercing her soul.

Feferi gulped as she stared at this beast who merely stared back at her. Finally he took a breath. “What are you willing to pay?” 

The Handmaiden’s cackling stopped abruptly as she snapped her eyes in curiosity to the lord. “My Lord, you can not be serious. This little girl asks us to commit two kinds of treason against Japan. One that gets us imprisoned, and the other, executed-”

“SILENCE, WHORE!” The Lord yelled, aiming his large index finger toward The Handmaiden. She stared at him in silence before sinking back into the couch, taking another puff of her cigarette, letting the steam blow out of her nose this time. It reminded Feferi of the similar steam being produced through the nose of an angry bull in some cartoons. The Lord looked back at Feferi. “What. Are. You willing. To pay.” he repeated.

Feferi cleared the fear from her throat, adjusting her scared stance to seem more courageous, more professional. “If… You do as I ask, I will pay you a million Yen for each supply delivery… And assist you in breaking into the national treasury once the Emperor is dead.”

The Lord raised an eyebrow, slowly lowering down to a seat by the coffee table. It groaned under his weight. “Sit, girl. Let us discuss your terms…”

 

Nepeta was curled up in the passenger sat, Equius’s coat draped over her. Almost there, Equius thought. The town was coming into view through the forest, the increase of farms a good sign they were close. Equius hoped that this would be a quick a trip, merely get the champagne for Scratch and leave. Perhaps let Nepeta walk around a toy store or get her some proper clothes from one of the shops.

As they drew nearer to the city, Equius heard stirring beside him. Nepeta rose from the far too large coat and rubbed her eyes sleepily, staring out the front of the window. “Oh, we’re almost here.” she said, slumping back to relax in the chair.

“Sleep well?” Equius inquired.

Nepeta shook her head, coming her fingers through her hair to get the knots out. “I had a nightmare I think…”

Equius frowned a bit. “Oh my… Are you alright Nepeta? Should I pull over?”

Nepeta let out a sleepy giggle. “No Equius, I’m ok… Thank you.”

Equius nodded slowly, now glancing over occasionally at Nepeta. “What was the dream about?” he asked after a rather uncomfortable silence.

Nepeta opened her mouth to speak but paused. “Mm… A boy. It was about a boy that I knew in the camp.”

Equius felt a strange sense of fatherly disapproval but pressed on, concealing his strange anger. “What about this boy?”

Nepeta turned to face the window, staring at the passing trees and stretching farms. “He was nice to me. He’d pick me flowers sometimes and would make sure when ever we went to a new town that I’d be one of the first to get a bath. He knew I loved the violin and would usually try and find someone to play songs for me. He’d pay them what ever he had....” her tone seemed happy at first but was now trailing down to a darker tone. “... They killed him before the train ride… When a soldier was poking around his tent he approached from behind and tapped the shoulder on the back to see why he was there. The soldier must of been startled… Because he turned around and shot him… I ran up and held him… And before he died he told me he loved me… And then they put me on the train.” she finished her sentence with abrupt finality. 

Equius looked over entirely now, seeing the glistening trails leading from the bottom of her eyes to her chin. “You… Have not led a happy life… Have you, Nepeta?”

Nepeta shook her head softly. “I suppose not… What about you Equius?” she sniffled, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her sleeve. “What was your life like before you became a soldier?”

Equius thought for a moment. “Well… My father fought in WWI as a U-boat captain, so much of my childhood was… Militaristic. I lived in Berlin all of my childhood and was top of my class. Oh, and I worked on car parts a lot as a kid too.”

Nepeta tilted her head to one side. “Car parts?”

Equius smiled and nodded. “Oh yes. My father and I could rip a car apart and put it back together without a single worry. Quite the engineers, my mother would say… Oh, yes, my mother. She was a mean woman! But she was, I’ll admit, a good mother. Let’s see… Well, after I was a child I just mostly focused on school and read in my father’s study. And then, when the black shirts arose I… Joined them…” What was once fury and glory burned at Equius’s conscious. He shook his head. “Let’s stop speaking Nepeta… We’re almost in town.”

Nepeta blinked a bit, but nodded and lowered her head. “Yeah. Ok…”

 

Rose sighed as she unfolded the letter from John. She began reading, unaware that Roxy was creeping up behind her, taking a gander at the writing for her self.

“Dear Rose, I’m doing good in Japan! The water is kinda cold but I don’t usually have to be in it besides when we first landed, though I’ll have to do it again if we move islands. The air is a lot more humid than LA, that’s for sure! I’ve been put into this platoon of guys, and they’re all pretty swell. That Dave fella is here too. I’m sorry my letter will probably be all over the place, or short as Hell, you know how I am. But how are you Rose? I haven’t gotten a letter from you yet. I’m sure you’re busy at your cousin’s bar or making a bit of extra money. Uhm. Hm… Well, anyway. I love you Rose! Oh- And there was a bit of a skirmish the other day. My hand got a little injured but it was really nothing! An accident, really! I’m sure the scar will be all healed up when I get back home! I am going to get home Rose. I promise. Just be there waiting for me with those warm open arms, I’m gunna need them. Yours forever, John.”

Rose didn’t know why, but she smiled. She reread the last line. “Just be there waiting for me with those warm open arms”. Roxy crept over Rose’s shoulder, resting her chin on it. “So toots? Will you?”

Rose glanced up at her, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Roxy wrapped her arms around Rose’s neck and leaned in closer to the letter. “Will you wait for him?”

Rose was a bit taken aback by the question. Why would Roxy even need to ask that? “I’m his wife Roxy, I’ve known him since I was five. Of course I’ll wait for him. Besides, what else would I do?”

Roxy offered a smile, though this one felt noticeable fake compared to her usual room-warming smile. “Nothin’ Rose… Just I know how you are is all. It’s gettin’ late, you should get home. Take care. Oh! And I already swooped by and paid the rent, no need to worry about it.”

Rose grabbed the leader and thanked Roxy and parted from the bar after a hug. As she made her way to the car, a few men walked by, laughing over some joke, their fine jaw lines twitching in humor, their broad chests rising and falling with each laugh, their-

Oh, Rose thought. That’s what Roxy ment. With her face red she waved one hand to her flushed cheeks and quickly rushed to the parking lot. “Stupid, stupid, stupid little girl…” she scolded herself as she moved to her own parked car.

 

 

Nepeta sat in the car while Equius went in to get the champagne. She stared down the street, watching the different people walking the streets. She thought she’d been here before, everything seemed to look a bit familiar. Though from her memories, it was a lot warmer to her in more ways then one. The sky shone blue, friends and lovers were in the streets, and bright colored cars would pass by on their ways to picnics or lakes. Now the sky was overcast, only tired laborers and soldiers marched the streets, and few cars besides the Nazi’s dominated the roads. Nepeta sighed and relaxed her arms on the dashboard.

Equius stood like a statue in wait for the older shop owner to return from the cellar with the champagne. Judging by the wine racks, the building was probably some sort of liquor store. The fine wallpaper and dark wood flooring had the appearance of one. However no bottles seemed to be in sight but a few and dark red and purple stains littered the floorboard. No doubt the work of some of the younger soldiers or a nearby bomb (though Equius doubted it was the latter).

Equius craned his neck back to see Nepeta in the car. She turned her head to look through the shop window at him, giving a small wave. She is bored, Equius thought. He rose his hand and gave a less enthusiastic wave in return.

 

 

Gamzee leisurely strolled behind the three bound and blindfolded Russians, each on their knees, each adorning an uncountable number of lacerations and other blood-offering injuries. The oldest of them slumped over quietly, keeping himself together through breathing tricks and doing his best to ignore the pain. The other two, junior officers, were both seething and shaking in either fear or pain. Gamzee just kept pacing, hadn’t even asked them anything yet. He didn’t even ask them anything during the torture.

Behind Gamzee stood three guards, each holding MP 40’s to the backs of each prisoner respectively, each back it’s own barrel. Finally, Gamzee walked in front of the oldest man, kneeling down in front of him. “You speak German. I know you do.” Gamzee said in his low scratchy ‘mother fuckin’ tone. 

The Russian merely kept his head low as the other two junior officers watched in horror and confusion, neither speaking a lick of German, both petrified by Makara’s presence. Makara began to chuckle, the chuckle turning into a cackle as he stood up, going behind the old man. “Do you know where you motha fuckin’ are Broskie? You’re at the motha fuckin’ Fallschirmspringerwand. Parachute wall! So if you don’t want to motha fuckin’ spill yo’ guts right here, how about this…”

Gamzee walked behind each Russian, taking their blindfolds off. Before them, only bodies length away, was the edge of a cliff face. The junior officers began to panic and Gamzee was sure even the older Russian had a moment of fear. “Behold and be amazed ma Slavic brothers! The Parachute Wall! Now, do each o’yall remember that lil’ question I asked you when I was pokin’ around your skin and such bullshit?”

The three Russians looked amongst eachother, and the farthest left junior officer turned to face Gamzee. He said something in Russian, his voice clearly shakey. Once he finished, the older man translated. “He said that you hadn’t actually asked any of us a question… You just went straight to torture.”

Gamzee chuckled as he walked up behind the junior officer, setting his enourmous hands on the boys shoulders. “Ehehahaha… WRONG ANSWER!” Gamzee bellowed as he took a step back from the boy, launching his boot at the back of the junior officers head. The metal on the bottom of the Jackboot clacked with the skull of the officer as he was launched face-first off the cliff, his legs kicking wildly as he slipped off, unable to grab anything with his bound hands. Finally he tumbled completely out of view, the air being filled with a loud scream cut abruptly short by a liquid-like crunch. Gamzee paused as he glanced over the cliff, then back to the prisoners. “Wait. That’s actually the right answer. Eheheh, shiiiit, whatever…”

 

 

The old man walked back out, looking down at the bottle of champagne. Equius extended his hand across the bar, open palmed, waiting to receive the bottle. The man looked up, his face twisting into a frown. “Sir, please… This is my last bottle of-” the man pleaded before Equius began unbuttoning his pistol’s holster with his free hand. The old man glanced down at it and lowered his head, setting the bottle in Equius’s hand. Equius nodded and turned to leave the shop. Thankfully, Nepeta was too busy looking at some birds in a nearby tree to notice the exchange.

Equius opened the driver door and scooched in, setting the Champagne in the back seat. Nepeta looked over at him, then glancing at the champagne. “Equius?”

Equius closed the door and looked over at Nepeta. “Yes Nepeta?”

“What does champagne taste like?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going through a very busy time as well as trying to find an artist for Warstuck (any takers?) and a second editor. Sorry for the late upd8! The... Really late upd8...


	8. A Sword in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You men have done a great job, and I have just one more thing to ask of you. Hold out just one more night. I know we've been without sleep a long time. But we expect another attack from them tonight and they may come through here. I have every reason to believe that we will have reliefs here for all of us in the morning."
> 
> ~Major General Merritt A. Edson

 

John stared at the scar running along his palm, turning his hand to see the scar mirrored on the opposite side. Three months wasn't quite enough to heal it entirely but at least he was able to use the damn thing again.

 

Dave came up from behind, tossing a pack of cigarettes and a pack of crackers in John's lap. "Rations aren't impressive but eat up Jesus." Dave said as he made his way along the half-ass built trench to Karkat and Sollux. While John wasn't exactly laughing every time the nickname Jesus was thrown around his way, he had to laugh. It made the hole in his hand a little less real.

 

Tavros nibbled on a bit of chocolate as he leaned his head against a few of the sandbags, O'Mile and Morrison browsing a Playboy side by side, cigarettes protruding from both their mouths. It was a real picture worthy moment, Tavros thought. Hearing boots, he looked over to see a familiar set of strange glasses entering the "trench". Tavros quickly set the chocolate down and scrambled for his carbine, beginning to rub it with a piece of cloth, making himself look busy, keeping his head down. His attempts to hide from Dirk were to no avail as he felt the familiar strong hand fall to rest on his shoulder.

 

With a gulp, Tavros looked up at the towering Dirk, slowly setting the cloth down on top of the Carbine. Dirk offered a smile. "Rest up Nitram. They'll be back again tonight, I'm not going to scold you for having some downtime. Want a cigarette?" Dirk offered, taking his hand off Tavros's shoulder to reach into his shirt.

 

Tavros quickly shook his head, beginning to move the rifle aside. "N-No thanks, sir. I, uh, don't smoke... Could... You see if anyone has some spare chocolate though?"

 

Dirk chuckled, a noise Tavros hadn't thought he'd heard before. "Sure thing Tavros. This stuff tastes like shit anyway, you can have my rations." He gave Tavros a pat on the shoulder and turned to climb out of the trench, exchanging a few words with Morrison and O'Mile about how Ms. September was before walking off. Tavros was so lost; three months ago Dirk was treating him like trash. Now, he was being treated like everyone else. During last night's skirmish he wasn't even sure he fired more than three shots, all of which he made sure missed.

 

Dave finally took a seat next to John, who was already downing his meal with a gulp of water to wash it down. "Shit, you're hungry. You gulfed your supper like it were nothing."

 

John paused to finish off his canteen, taking his lips off the lid to swallow before responding. "You gave me a slice of bread and tobacco wrapped in paper, it WAS nothing,"

 

Dave laughed a bit, reaching into his jacket to pull out a can of meat, grabbing his bayonet to work it open. "So, John... Are you ready for tonight's battle?" Dave asked casually, in the same manner one may ask another if they're ready to take a test.

 

John cocked his eyebrow up, sliding an unlit cigarette to his lips. "Well... If the Japs put up a fight like yesterday, I'll barely even know that there IS a fight." He struck a match and brought to the cigarette, giving a few puffs to get the fire burning before flicking the match into a patch of dirt and stomping it out with his boot. "Say, where the Hell are we on this godforsaken island anyway?"

 

Dave took a bite of the meat, ignoring now little it tasted like meat, before responding. "Edson's ridge."

 

John laughed a bit, holding the cigarette between his fingers. "Like, OUR Edson? God, we fight one battle and the guy's already naming this place after him self."

 

Dave shook his head, setting the can down. "Did you see him last night? He was fighting right along side us, the man deserves this hill as much as any of us do. Helluva commander. Enough grunt talk, how's the lady?" Dave asked, reclining against the low trench wall.

 

John frowned, taking a long puff of the cigarette before answering. "She... She uh... She hasn't sent me a letter yet... Her cousin did though, said that Rose has just been real out of it lately. I'm starting to wonder if leaving her was such a good idea."

 

Dave shrugged. "Probably wasn't, but hey. War is war, people gotta fight wars." John lowered his head a bit, glancing away from Dave unconvinced. Dave sat forward, leaning in closer. "John, you had a good fucking reason to join. You lost your sister man. That shit's rough. Your wife'll forgive you when your home. And... Let's be honest pal. She's probably gunna be real happy to see you when you get home. For uh... More reasons than one." Dave saw John grin at the idea, feeling a bit of pride.

 

John nodded finally, offering a smile. "Heh, I better not let her down then." John said, offering his cigarette over to Dave.

  
  
  
  


Sollux tweaked a few knobs on the backpack radio, calibrating it's frequency. Karkat sat boredly behind him, twirling his bayonet through his fingers. "Yo double-banger, what's taking you so long?" Karkat groaned.

 

Sollux sighed, letting go of the radio to turn toward Karkat. "Lithen atthole, I'm calibrating the radio thho that tonight we're not fumbling around with our dickth in our handth while Tojo hammerth uth like nailth."

 

"Earth to the blind man," Karkat jeered in return. "Do you not remember last night? It was darker then an Edgar Allan Poe novel. You won't even know where you are!"

 

Sollux rolled his eyes and turned back to the radio. "I can get a rough ethhtimate of the battle field, thhpot thhome targetthh, get a rough etthimate of the battleth direction. Chancetheth are I'll juthht leave it behind though, yethh."

 

Karkat was silent for a bit before crossing one leg over the other, sighing. "We could totally be looking at Morrison's nudos right now..."

  
  
  
  
  


Ampora stared through the treeline in the direction of the ridge. The Japanese army around him consisting of roughly 3,000 men was bustling; some were moving light artillery pieces, others finishing writing some letters, most preparing their equipment. The destruction of their supplies had dampened many of these men’s morale, as a lack of food would, but Eridan knew they wouldn't rout. Not if they wanted to keep their heads.

 

An officer approached Eridan from behind, joining his side. "Officer Ampora, sir. The troops are ready to move. We still have some sunlight. Do you want to advance, sir?"

 

Ampora thought for a moment before looking to his right at the officer. "No. W-Wait for it to be entirely dark. Then w-we w-will strike. Make sure the artillery is loaded.  W-We'll spread out into tw-wo forces and try to pinch the Americans. Inform the other commanders."

 

The officer bowed and parted from Eridan's side, disappearing in the sea of Japanese infantry. Eridan glared through the jungle, rolling his fingers around the hilt of his katana. "Hm... Officer!" he turned around to catch the shuffling officer before he left. After a brief pause the man returned from the sea of soldiers.

 

"Sir?" he inquired, standing at attention.

 

"Hand me your blade." Eridan ordered, staring down at the man.

 

The man went to ask why, but knew better. He nodded and untied the sword from his belt, offering it to Eridan.

 

Eridan took it and tied it next to his own blade. "I need to send a message to an American I know is stationed on that ridge... You're dismissed."

  
  
  
  
  
  


"Fuck me and call me Sally, it's dark." Dave said, clutching his rifle.

 

"Can I just call you Sally?"

 

"Shut up John."

 

Tavros was buried against his sandbag, staring out across the pitch-black hills in front of him, Dave and John whispering to each other beside him. Dave was beginning to become his mentor of sorts, or at least the one that would deal with him during breakdowns. He felt childish for even needing such a type of friend but was grateful all the same.

 

Karkat and Sollux were in the foxhole over, rifles trained into the darkness. “We’re not going to hit shit if it’s this dark out for the whole battle.” Karkat muttered in an irritated tone.

 

“Quit your bitching Vantathh.” Sollux responded, resting a bit more on the sandbags. “Juthht fire at what ever lookthh Japanethh.”

 

Karkat barred his teeth. “Well your eyes are starting to look mighty squinty, you-”

 

Dirk, Morrison, and Morrison dropped in behind them, kneeling against the sandbags. “Cut the chatter you two.” Dirk ordered as Morrison and O’Mile took aim into the forest ahead.

 

John sighed a bit, rubbing the side of his neck. “I hate the waiting.”

 

“The damned waiting.” Dave responded. Tavros remained silent. Dave and John slowly looked over at him.

 

Feeling eyes on him, Tavros slowly blunk to his left. “Wh- Oh, uh, th-the god damned waiting.” he responded unsurely. Dave gave a nod of approval and looked back out across the forest beyond the hills.

  
  
  
  


The Japanese soldiers began to form their lines, giving some spacing to each other, each ready for the fight ahead. Eridan marched through the lines, observing soldiers, making sure they were set and in order. A soldier approached him during his inspection, giving a salute. “Officer Ampora, with respect sir, why are you not on the destroyers? I thought that you were to order the barrage.”

 

Eridan made no attempt of eye contact and went on inspecting the men. “My talents w-would be w-waisted on a destroyer.  I’ll be leading the charges…”

 

“Well… Sir, you are still in charge of ordering the barrage as well as beginning the charge. Are… You ready? Sir?” the officer asked, hiding a few beads of sweat forming on his brow.

 

Eridan paused his inspection now, standing upright. He slid his hand down onto his katana, drawing it in a shimmering flash. The officer’s stomach lurched as Eridan did, knowing of Ampora’s track record with friendly fire, or “discipline” as Eridan called it. The officer was relieved to find himself in one piece and unpunctured. Eridan stared at what little reflection he could see of him self, the lack of moonlight on this night making it a rather limited reflection. Eridan turned his head to the officer and nodded. “Begin the barrage. W-We mov-ve out now-w.”

  
  
  
  


The entire American force sat in silence. John, Dave, Tavros, Karkat, Sollux, Morrison, and O’Mile stared down their rifle sights in stillness. It was only Dirk that paced through the foxholes. Finally, distant booms broke the silence. O’Mile tilted his head to the side as the sounds volleyed again. “That sounds like-”

 

“Battleship barrage! Everyone, hit the deck!” Dirk bellowed as he dove back into a foxhole. The confused men lowered their heads just as the first shells began raining down. The first landed directly in a foxhole behind John and Dave.

 

The force of the explosion launched John into the sandbags in front of him, his rifle being tossed slightly out of the foxhole. His nose cracked against a bag as he struggled to keep on his feet, adrenaline filling his blood. A part of him wanted to laugh; it was just like when his head was thrown forward on the bus to bootcamp. He scrambled his arm out to grab his rifle, dragging it back into the foxhole.

 

Dave, however, was not in a laughing mood. He clutched his rifle tightly, muttering profanities constantly as the dirt began to settle. He could feel Tavros shaking beside him.

 

“Everyone ok!?” A voice called from one of the trenches.

 

There was a silence filled only with a few more less accurate echoes of explosions before someone responded from somewhere behind John. “We lost Johnson! And Kenny’s hurt r-real bad!”

 

Dirk reared his head back, keeping below the sandbags as another shell blew just in front of the line of foxholes, dirt and debris raining down on the eager soldiers. “Someone get a medic and get him conscious! We’ll need every damn gun on this hill if we’re gonna do this!”

 

John rubbed his nose to check for blood, glad to find only intact cartilage. Dave shuffled over to give him a pat on the back. “Still in one piece Egbert?”

 

John laughed a nervous laugh, resting his rifle back on the sandbags. “I think so, how’s Tavros?”

 

Dave turned to his right, seeing Tavros still aiming his rifle true and steady toward the forest. “You’re looking hella more brave Tav, what’s the occasion?”

 

“Uh… Not… Dying?”

  
  
  
  


Eridan watched the distant explosions, the brief yellow and orange flashes in the darkness. A few times he was able to make out the tint of a helmet or a rifle barrel. The line of Japanese stood at the ready, bayonets armed and prepared. “W-Wait for the flare!” Eridan ordered.

  
  
  
  


After a good ten minutes, the explosions finally stopped. Sure that the barrage was over, Sollux called out to the other foxholes. “Anyone else injured!?”

 

His question was met with a collection of “we’re good”s and “still breathing”s. Dirk nodded beside Sollux, adjusting his placement against the sandbags. “Alright… I have a sinking feeling they’re-”

 

“Everyone quiet!” Karkat yelled. Dirk went silent and looked at Karkat with confusion. Karkat narrowed his eyes forward. “Do you hear that…?” he said in a quieter tone. Everyone fell dead silent, looking toward the forest. Nothing made noise. Not even crickets. Finally, the silence was broken by a subtle KA-THUNK. After a small delay, a flare burst in the sky, illuminating the hills and foxholes and trees with a dim red light.

 

John’s mouth slowly went agape as he saw the sprinting line of glistening red-tinted helmets charging the foxholes. Everyone slowly began to train their guns, the subtle clacking of wood on metal as the barrels of BARs, Thompsons, and carbines alike began to take aim. With guns trained, the air was dead again. Some held their breath, both figuratively and literally.

 

Then, the silence was broken with a mighty roar.

 

“BANZAI!”

 

All at once, everything went to hell. Some voice from the trenches screamed “FIRE!” and all 800 marines were blazing gunfire. John could barely see a thing with the dim flare and his poor eyesight. He merely fired blindly into the charging wall of bodies. The Japanese gunfire was inaccurate, very rarely did a shot make it the sand bags.

 

Dave placed his shots a bit more carefully, waiting for a helmet to glint or a gun to fire before aiming his shot. Tavros on the other hand was blasting rounds so fast that carbine of his almost looked automatic.

 

Opposite them, Karkat and Sollux pressed shoulder to shoulder, waiting for some of the braver Japanese to get close to the trench before blasting them. As one charged, bayonet leveled down to the foxhole, Sollux roughly aimed the barrel up at the soldier’s chest and fired. The round went straight through his shoulder but the man kept coming. In a panic, Sollux fired again, but the bullet missed entirely. Before he could fire again, the Japanese soldier pounced, jumping and slamming his feet into Sollux’s shoulders. Sollux went down like a bag of bricks, his tumbling off away. Sollux grunted and slapped the bayonet to the right to avoid the thing skewering him, the blade instead stabbing through a loose part of his shirt into the mud. The Japanese soldier screamed again as he prepared to yank the bayonet out and put Sollux down. His warcry, however, was ended abruptly as Karkat pressed a 1911 to the back of the man’s head and fired.

 

The man’s forehead exploded outward, Sollux feeling warm bits of blood and brain matter splatter cross his face. The soldier continued to stay slumped, straddled over Sollux, before sliding off to the side. Karkat slowly lowered the pistol, looking down to Sollux. “Grateful?” he asked, an artillery shell exploding somewhere in the distance, gunfire still filling the air.

 

Sollux scoffed and began to to sit up, yanking the rifle out of the mud, discarding it to the side. “Thhut up and get back to fighting, you prick!”

 

Dirk moved from foxhole to foxhole, checking on each one, seeing the condition of the fight. While the flare above was beginning to go out, it appeared as though the Japanese advance was mainly being held at bay, but more and more were getting close to the sandbags. Dirk made his way into the trench with John, Dave, and Tavros, taking a spot next to John. “Egbert!” he yelled.

 

John paused to fire at an incoming Japanese soldier, nailing him square in the heart. John ducked briefly as the body tumbled overhead into the foxhole, slumped dead behind the line of marines. “Yes sir!?” John responded.

 

Dirk gave the Japanese corpse a kick ensure it’s fatality. “We’re about to be overrun! Once a rush of Japs makes it into your foxhole, fall back to the ones behind us! Understood!?”

 

John nodded as he briefly observed a glimpse of Dave getting two soldiers, one in the head and one in the belly. “Sir, yes sir!”

 

Dirk nodded and stretched his pistol through the sandbags, firing a few rounds at the sound of a screaming “Banzai!” Through the darkness and echoes of war, there was a cry of pain and an audible thud near the foxhole. Dirk turned to face John as he prepared his rifle, a confused look on his face. “Hey…” Dirk began, John looking over to him.

 

“Yes sir?” John inquired, resting his cheek on the stock of the rifle.  
  
Dirk looked up to meet John’s eyes. “Where’s Morrison and O’Mile?”

  
  
  
  


O’Mile rested his shoulder against the right side of the tree, Morrison against its left. They planned their shots carefully, firing at every orange blip coming from the direction of the charging Japanese force. O’Mile laughed a bit to himself. “Battle’s quiet over here… Fuckin’ idiots.”

 

Morrison breathed out slowly as he squeezed the trigger back, a bullet flying straight and true into the Japanese horde without them being any the wiser. “E-yup. They won’t even know what-”

 

Their blood turned to ice as the sound of a blade leaving it’s sheath was heard from behind. “...Hit them.”

  
  
  
  


Tavros aimed in any direction enemy gunfire came from, his shoulder jerking back with each pull of the trigger. The enemy line just kept getting closer, and closer. He couldn’t see for sure through the darkness, but Tavros swore he could see bodies beginning to pile. Dave ducked below the sand bags and popped the clip from his rifle, patting around his belt for a fresh set of rounds. Feeling only empty pouches, he cursed silently to himself. “I’m outta ammo!” he yelled.

 

John ducked breifly behind the sandbags as an artillery round blasted hot dirt and burning embers across his helmet and over the dig-in, rising back up to fire at a charging Jap. The body tumbled against the sandbags, within arms reach of John. “Fuck it, we’re falling back!” John yelled, reaching into his pouch to toss Dave a clip.

 

Dave nodded and slid the clip in, racking a round into the chamber with a satisfying clack. The three fired a few suppressive rounds and began to pull out of the foxfole, a few “fall back”s being heard around them. It seems they weren’t the only ones with the wise idea to retreat.

 

John sprinted across the grass up the hill, Dave close behind and Tavros thumping along behind him. They could hear the Japanese force right at their heels, a few bullets even hissing by or striking the dirt near them. Feeling the incline of the hill flatten out, John realized they were nearing the second entrenchment. “Friendlies here! Don’t shoot!” he hollered as they ran blind.

 

“We know!” A familiar voice called back from the trench. “Now get over here you fuck-asses!”

  
  
  
  


Eridan walked briskly up the hill watching a naval shell burst in the distance, the distant cracks of gunfire rolling off the terrain around him. He stepped over corpse after corpse until he came upon the fallen American line of defense. Inside one of the abandoned foxholes, three Japanese soldiers were feverishly picking at the American bodies inside. “W-What in the emperor's name are you three doing?” Eridan asked.

 

One of the soldiers looked up, just being able to make out Eridan’s face as a new flare burst overhead, tinting the battlefield red. He stood at attention. “Imperial officer Ampora, sir! The American corpses have food rations. Our rations were mostly destroyed and are dwindling, we were gathering what we could to bring back to the camp.”

 

Eridan glared down at this soldier as a fresh group of twenty or so came running past, their boots softly thudding against the Japanese soil. Finally, he nodded. “Fine. Div-vert a few-w men sparingly to loot the American corpses.” Eridan ordered in a pompous tone.

 

“Yes, sir.” the soldier responded, crouching back down next to the corpse with the other two. Eridan nodded and moved his eyes up the hill as another group came moving by. The sound of marching filled his ears. And he liked it.

  
  
  
  


“THEY JUST KEEP COMING!” Karkat yelled as he drilled round and after round into the enemy onslaught. Sollux, John, and Tavros stood beside him, blazing hellfire while Dave kneeled in his cover, bulletless.

 

“When the Hell is Dirk gonna be back with that ammo!?” Dave yelled, furious at his current uselessness.

 

“Gee, let me get out my fucking crythhtal ball!” Sollux sassed, ducking briefly as a hail of gunfire whistled overhead inaccurately.

 

Dave grunted a bit, peeping up to see yet another Japanese soldier charging. John was taking aim, but Dave quickly put his hand on the top of John’s rifle. “Wait John. Let him get to the trench.”

 

John looked at Dave like he was crazy but quickly realized Dave’s intentions. He nodded and shuffled over a few more steps, barely even flinching this time as an artillery blast sent embers overhead. Dave drew his 1911, crouching down like a panther ready to strike. As expected, the Japanese soldier lept into the foxhole, still screaming his banzai as Dave charged, tackling the unsuspecting soldier.

 

Dave grabbed the barrel of the Type 30, pushing it to the side, moving his forearm into the throat of the Japanese soldier. Dave proceeded to ram the man into the wall of the foxhole, the soldier being unable to put up any resistance in his surprised state. Dave jammed the barrel of the 1911 into the gut of the soldier and squeezed the trigger back, a .45 bullet shredding the stomach of the man. The Japanese soldier hunched forward, letting out a wheezing gasp of pain. Dave grabbed the man by the collar and moved the 1911 up to the mans heart, blasting two rounds in. The soldier’s eyes shot open before blinking closed, the Type 30 slipping onto the ground.

 

Dave moved the corpse behind him, bending over to pick up the Type 30. He cocked the bolt back, seeing the gun still contained a full magazine. Dave pushed the bolt forward and bent over to loot the corpse of the remaining ammunition. John, meanwhile, stared back at Dave with a slight look of awe. Dave continued to loot before he glanced back, seeing John’s bedazzled stare. “What?” Dave asked. “Ain’t never seen a man improvise before?”

  
  
  
  


Dirk kept his head below the sandbags as he moved from hole to hole, ammo cans tight in hand. He dooped and ducked after every burst of brass, every exploding shell. He wasn’t foreign to a fight, but this battle was quickly turning into a nightmare. Even though the Japanese were barely gaining any ground, their advances were relentless, unyielding.

 

Dirk prepared to leave yet another foxhole full of fighting marines when a hand grabbed the back of his collar, yanking him back. “Whoa there son!” came an unknown American voice said from behind. Dirk fell backwards, the ammo cans falling on top of him. Before he had a chance to throttle the person who grabbed him, an artillery shell blew a couple of yards from the foxhole, where he would of been standing had he sprinted from the foxhole.

 

Dirk crawled to his feet, meeting to see the eyes of the man who narrowly stopped him from becoming a charred Dirk-steak (medium rare). The realization of who it was came just as a red flare popped overhead, adding to the drama of the moment. Smirking back at him stood General Edson, the commanding officer of this entire offensive. “General Edson sir! What are you doing at the frontlines?” Dirk inquired, bending down to grab the ammo cans.

 

Edson chuckled a bit, bending over to pick up the rifle off of a dead Japanese soldier that had fallen in the foxhole earlier. “You don’t think I’m just gonna sit back and pencil push while my boys fight do you? No glory in it! Get back to the fight son.” Edson said, giving a smile and a salute. Dirk returned it. As Edson left the trench, firing a shot or two in the direction of the Japanese, Dirk couldn’t help but feel inferior.

  
  
  
  


Sollux huffed a few times before rising up, laying his barrel to face out of the foxhole. Before he could fire however, a boot came from the darkness and found it’s mark in his forehead, undoing the already loose strap on Sollux’s helmet and sending it off his head and into the grass, Sollux’s body soon following. Wincing at the throbbing pain, Sollux drew his 1911 from his waist and fired wildly out of the trench. Before the soldier could leap in to finish Sollux, he found five .45 rounds in his chest. Each bullet sent him a step further back until the 6th found it’s mark in his forehead, his body tumbling backwards into the grass.

 

Dave rushed over to put his arm around Sollux, helping him back up to his feet. “We can’t fuckin’ hold out here any longer!” Dave hollered. “And where’s-”

 

Suddenly a familiar blonde haired figure fell into the foxhole, setting two ammo cans down, popping them open. “You called Strider?” Dirk said in a combination of sarcasm and suave.

 

Dave furrowed his brow. “Well la-de-fuckin’-da, nice timin’ sir!” Dave returned with harsher sarcasm. “We’re barely runnin’ on shell casings h-”

 

“Guys!” John interrupted, halting his gunfire. “They’re falling back!”

 

Tavros pushed the helmet up over his eyes, glancing over the top of the foxhole. “H-Huh?”

 

Karkat laughed a bit, baring his teeth. “Egbert’s right, the fuckers are retreating! We did it!” he screamed.

  
  
  
  


“Egbert’s… Fuckers… Retreating!” was all Eridan could make out from the foxhole over the small hill ahead of him. Behind him huddled the remaining horde of Japanese, currently laying down in the grass, quickly eating the rations they’d picked off the fallen Americans in the over run foxholes nearby. Eridan tightened his lip and turned to kneel by one of the soldiers. “Five minutes is all you w-weaklings get as a break. Then w-we adv-vance again.”

  
  
  
  


Tavros slumped against the side of the foxhole, breathing heavily. “I-I can’t believe we made it through that…” he groaned.

 

John nodded next to him, unstrapping his helmet and setting it beside him. His black hair was sticky with sweat. He unscrewed his canteen and took what felt like the largest gulp of water. He finally pulled the canteen away from his lips with an audible pop. “Oooh god that’s the stuff…”

 

Dave reached for his own canteen, taking a moment to now look up at the pitch black sky. “I just noticed, the ships’ve stopped firin’.”

 

Dirk also took to looking at the sky, a small grimace on his face. “I don’t like this… Don’t get too relaxed. I doubt they’re finished with us yet.” he grimaced.

 

“Can’t we have thithh one moment to relaxthh?” Sollux lisped, tending to the small cut above his eyebrow.

 

Karkat stood staring at the hill from which the horde had advanced, rifle in arms. “Dirk’s right. Something’s not right about this. Those narrow eyed rice riders wouldn’t give up this easily.”

 

John sighed a bit, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, maybe…” he muttered. He looked over at Tavros who was currently sitting with his eyes closed, the stress on his chest hinting that he was attempting to control his breathing. John put a hand on Tavros’s shoulder, causing the young boy to strongly flinch and stare at John before relaxing again. John offered his buck toothed smile. “How are you holding up Tavros?” John asked.

 

Tavros seemed to think long and hard on that question. “I… I’m not, uh, sure. We keep surviving but it’s just by the skin of our, uhm, teeth. I don’t feel like-” Tavros stopped mid sentence as a single rifle shot cracked the air around it, a loud metal ping being made as Tavros’s head shot forward, his helmet flying off as a brief orange spark marked where the bullet had struck it.

 

Dave stared in horror as Tavros lay slumped on the ground. A scream rising in his throat was nearly out when he saw Tavros slowly twitch and gasp, grabbing at the top of his mohawk. He sat up, running his finger obsessively through his hair, feeling where the bullet had chopped through his locks, leaving no actual physical damage. “Wha… What…” Tavros breathed.

 

“Back on your feet!” Karkat screamed, taking a knee back at the foxhole walls as he laid his rifle on the sandbags, “They’re charging again!”

 

Tavros stayed in awe as John and Sollux moved back to Karkat’s side, Dave merely staring. The roar of the horde was heard through the darkness as glinting helmets began to appear over the small hill in front of them, the roar nearly matching the tone of the stomping of boots. There was more this time. A lot more.

 

John looked over at Dave as Karkat began firing again, a red flare popping over head at about the same time. “Dave!” John yelled, grabbing Dave’s shirt. “Dave, snap out of it man!”

 

Dirk took notice to Dave’s unresponsive state and marched over, kneeling in front of him to get to eye level. Seeing Dirk take over the situation, John turned back to join his rifle in the defensive line, gunfire erupting.

 

Dirk grabbed Dave’s collar, giving it a yank. “Strider, hey. Strider listen to me. He’s fine. Tavros is fine. Get your shit in gear boy, unless death is a better fate to you.” Hearing that, Dave seemed to twitch a bit, now looking over at Dirk with a look like he didn’t know where he was. Dave looked over at Tavros. “H-Hey, kid, are you-”

 

Tavros gave a brief wave of his hand, nodding. “I-I-I’m fine, D-Dave, I uh… Just…” Tavros was in just as much shock as Dave.

 

Sollux let out a cry as he gunned down three Japanese soldiers, each falling just a little bit closer to the foxhole’s sandbags. “They’re getting even clothher than before! We need to fall back!”

 

Dirk groaned and reared his head over in Sollux’s direction. “We can’t fall back! There’s no one left behind us!”

 

Hearing that seemed to finally snap Dave out of his hypnotic state. He nodded, slowly clambering to his feet, his knees a bit shaky. He rested the Type 30 on the sandbags, pulling the bolt back and slamming it forward, putting a new round into the chamber. He took aim at a soldier just now appearing over the hill and fired.

 

Dirk nodded as Dave returned to the defensive line. He sprawled toward Tavros, keeping his head just below the sounds of whistling bullets. He rested a hand on Tavros’s shoulder, helping him at least get off his hands and knees. “Nitram, listen to me. You can’t bug out on us now. We need every gun we got right now, Tavros.”

 

Tavros continued his heavy breathing, struggling to stay on just two knees, scrambling with one empty hand to find his rifle. “I… Know I just… It… I…” he muttered endlessly.

 

Dirk sighed and shook his head. “Just… Rest, then Tavros.” Dirk grabbed Tavros’s carbine and as well as a spare magazine from Tavros’s belt. He knelt next to Karkat and took aim at a soldier keeping back a bit, laying in the grass while firing his rifle. A small pressure applied to the carbine’s trigger ended the rifleman’s life.

  
  
  
  
  


Eridan stood below the hill as more and more men charged. An officer huffed next to Eridan, sweat dripping off his face. “Ampora, sir!” he said in a breathless voice.

 

Eridan calmly looked to his side. “W-What is it?”

 

The officer stood as straight as he could, adjusting his cap. “Our forces are dwindling, sir! Major General Kawaguchi has ordered a full retreat!”

 

Eridan grit his teeth, staring up the hill. “Not yet…”

  
  
  
  


The Japanese dropped and dropped as fewer and fewer began coming over the hill. “We’re breaking them!” Dirk yelled, emptying three rounds into a man’s chest. “Keep firing!”  
  
  


  
  
The officer shook his head, fighting fear over orders. Finally he had the gall to respond. “Officer Ampora, I have orders under the Grand General! We are to retreat!”

 

“Not… Yet…” Eridan hissed, narrowing his eyes up the hill.

 

The officer sighed and shook his head, turning around. He grabbed a man by the shoulder during his charge. “Tell the others we are retreating!”

 

Eridan glared over at the other officer, a fire burning in his dark eyes.

  
  
  


John watched as the last Japanese soldiers fell, the others turning and falling back to where they came. John let out a tremendous laugh, throwing his rifle down. “We did it!” he screamed. “They’ve turned tail! We win!”

 

Dave let out a tremendous sigh and fell against the sandbags, slowly buckling his helmet. He ran his hand through his blonde hair, the lack of gunfire letting him begin to hear his heart beat through his chest.

 

Tavros let go of the rifle, letting it rest on the sand bags. His knees shook as he turned around, sliding back first down the foxhole’s wall. He stared at his shaking hands, his teeth chattering, a few tears rolling down his cheek.

 

Karkat grabbed Sollux’s shoulder and gave it a shook, giving a smile. “They’re routing!”

 

“I can thhee that athhhole,” Sollux jeered, a small smile appearing on his lips as he moved his own hand onto Karkat’s shoulder. “I’m not blind.”

 

Dirk let out a sigh of relief and slid the 1911 into his holster. He gave John a pat on the back and continued to climb out of the foxhole. “Alright, who’s wounded!? Let’s get some medics out here, c’mon, we got a mess to clean up!”

  
  
  
  


The sun began to rise, shining light over the battlefield. Tavros sat pressed against a sandbag, staring at the dent in his helmet. Dave noticed how still he was and walked over. “Hey Tav. How y’holdin’ up?”

 

“... Good…” Tavros lied in a voice almost like a whisper. Dave frowned and rubbed the stubble beginning to form on his cheek. Finally he gave in and took a seat next to Tavros, staring at the dent himself.

 

“What’s it gettin’ to y’then? The bullet, or all the corpses?” Dave said, putting his arm around Tavros.

  
  
  
  


Karkat sat down with a sigh, watching the medic go to work on the gash across Sollux’s eyebrow. “How’s it feel to be a boot magnet?”

 

“Ever had two girlthh at once? I have. Twithh.”  
  
“Fuck you.”

  
  
  


Dirk stood on top of the ridge, cigarette hanging from his lip. John shuffled over next to him, staring out over the hills. John let out a quiet gasp as the layout of last nights battle stretched out in front of him.. The hills were littered with corpses. “Oh my god…” John said under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

 

 

Dirk took the cigarette from between his lips, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “I know…” he responded, his face more expressionless and calculated than John’s awed look. “When I first-”

 

An approaching soldier interrupted, coming up from behind. “Sergeant Dirk Strider?” he inquired.

 

Dirk turned to face the soldier, slowly nodding as he took another drag from the cigarette. “In the flesh, most of it anyway. What is it?”

 

The man opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. There was an odd look in his eyes. “You… May want to follow me, sir.”

  
  
  
  
  


Eridan marched along the other men, looking upon their beaten and weak faces. They were hungry and with low spirits. They were not his interest however. Eridan focused on the officer ahead, the very same who carried the message to retreat. Eridan squeezed the katana’s hilt so tightly his fingers began to whiten.

  
  
  
  
  


Dirk followed the soldier to where the hills met the forest. The soldier sighed a bit as he turned. “Just straight past this brush. I sure hope you haven’t eaten today…” he muttered.

 

Dirk gave a quizzical stare and stepped past the soldier, entering the small clearing in the forest. The cigarette fell from his lips when the scene came into view.

 

Blood painted almost everything in sight. There were two notable bodies which made the amount of gore even more difficult to comprehend. Dirk approached the one nearest him. The soldier’s belly was ripped open and it’s head was removed, not to mention multiple cuts along the arm and upper chest. It’s hand was open at it’s side, a 1911 rested on dead fingers. The head was nowhere in sight. Dirk reached down the blood-soaked shirt and pulled out a set of jangling dog tags; O’Mile.

 

Dirk felt a heat rise up inside of him, his face flushing red with rage. He snapped the dog tags off the corpses neck, the body slowly slumping onto the forest floor. Dirk moved his attention to the other corpse. He approached it, recognizing the face as belonging to Morrison. One arm was cut completely off, a notable gash made across one of his thighs. What was most notable, however, was the katana jammed through his chest, still sticking straight up into the air.

 

Dirk grabbed the hilt of the katana and slid it out, a few weak spurts of blood making their way out of the wound. Dirk rose it up above him, rays of sunlight through the trees gleaming off the gore stained white steel. “Ampora…” Dirk growled.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May be a wee bit before the next upd8. I popped this one out so fast due to the fact that I may of already had it finished when I released chapter 7... Eheheh... Thanks for r-reading!
> 
> P.S. Curious about the battle of Edson's Bloody Ridge? Here's the Wiki link! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Edson%27s_Ridge#Second_night.27s_action_on_the_ridge


	9. Toy Soldiers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter."
> 
> \- Earnest Hemingway

John huddled against the wall of the foxhole, clutching his M1 Garand. He felt the heat off the waves of hot brass flying overhead, the screams of dying men overwhelming his senses. He looked over at an opposite trench, seeing Karkat and Sollux firing into the darkness. They both struck the same man and watched him fall to the ground together. Karkat smiled and put a hand on Sollux’s shoulder. However, before he could speak, John caught sight of a yellow painted grenade flying through the air, landing behind them. John tried to call out but his throat felt like it was caught in a vice.

 

The grenade burst, a grey smoke mixed with red slosh blinding him. John covered his eyes briefly, a small whimper escaping his lips. He opened his eyes slowly, gore filling his vision. Karkat’s head seemed to be the only intact thing as it slowly rolled toward John’s foxhole, bits of flesh and bloodied uniform gently falling to the ground like snow. John tried to scream but found the feeling in his throat resurface. He stumbled onto his ass and began to kick away from the head, scooting back as fast as he could.

 

John kicked and kicked but didn’t seem to make any distance. Finally he felt something hit his back. He stopped and turned to look up. Tavros was curled against the side of the trench, staring at him with the same fear John showed. “I-” Tavros began before a bullet tore through the sandbag near his head, punching through his helmet with the sound of tearing metal, sending a cloud of red and pink out of the exit wound. Tavros’s eyes rolled back as his jaw slacked open. He tumbled to the side, his helmet bouncing away.

 

John scrambled over Tavros in horror, jumping to his feet and running. He ran and ran, ignoring the hissing gunfire around him, until finally he slipped on the wet grass, falling face first into the ground. John didn’t dare to move until he felt a hand on his shoulder. It gently pushed John onto his back. Above him stood Rose, a warm smile on her face. John could just barely make out Dirk in the background, clashing swords with some other dark figure, but his attention was focused primarily on his abandoned bride.

 

Rose kneeled down beside John, slipping a hand onto his cheek, the heat relaxing every tense muscle in John’s body. “Why did you leave me.” Rose asked, the smile slowly turning into a frown. “Why did you leave me, John?” She repeated, the frown now turning into a scowl.

 

Suddenly the face morphed and twisted into the shape of Dave’s face. He lurched forward, John smelling what could only be described as death coming from Dave’s mouth. “YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO LEAVE HERE!” said a deep and demonic voice from Dave’s lips. John tried once more to speak, but instead of feeling the vice-like grip, he felt a tremendous pain. John heard the faint noise of flesh tearing as Dave drew his hand away, a chunk of skin and muscle in his hand.

 

John fell to the ground, reaching up to feel that half his throat had been torn out. He spasmed and jerked, feeling the blood fill his throat and lungs. Dave stood above him, cackling, the face warping back to Rose, then to Tavros, then to Karkat; it kept switching and switching as John watched in agonizing terror, the blood-

  
  
  
  


John jolted awake, staring wide eyed at his surroundings. Dave glanced over, leaning against the sandbags set up. “Nightmares?” Dave asked, fishing around his bandolier for his pack of smokes.

 

John rubbed his eyes. “Yeah… What time is it anyway?” John asked, adjusting his glasses. The heavy rain wasn’t helping to keep them clean.

 

Dave adjusted himself in the wet mud before bringing his wrist up. “Uh… It’s almost midnight.” He said, studying his watch in what dim light he had.

 

With a sigh, John crawled over to the sandbags, sitting next to Dave. “How long do we have to play perimeter duty? I bet the Wildcat pilots are having a dandy fucking time in their cots.”

 

Dave finally found the pack of cigarettes. Grabbing one, he stuck it between his lips. “Welcome to the Army Egbert…” he muttered, striking a match. He lit the tip of the cigarette before letting the rain do the work of putting the match out. Dave glanced over the sandbags, looking across the boggy water pits. “Heard that some tanks got wiped out last night. Must of taken a wrong turn, arty ended ‘em.”

 

John moved his helmet further on his head in an attempt to prevent the rain from blocking his glasses. “That, or the Japanese are launching an attack on the airfield.” John jested, trying to find a spot on the ground that the rain hadn’t turned to mud.

 

Dave laughed a bit. “Maybe if we’re lucky, they’ll get those damned pilots. Arrogant bastards.”

 

John smiled at Dave's humor, glancing across the sandbags to study the unmanned M1917. John furrowed his brow a bit. "When is Karkat going to get back from his piss?"

 

Dave took a drag from the cigarette, adjusting his helmet as he let out a cloud of smoke that quickly dissipated in the heavy rain. "Corporal Loud-Mouth? God only knows." Dave stuck the cigarette between his lips again and started to crawl over to the emplaced M1917, checking the boxes of ammo near it, moving to click the top part off and see if the belt was in place.

 

John raised an eyebrow and kneeled over to look at the gun with him. "What the Hell are you doing?" he whispered.

 

Dave snapped the belt back in and closed the top of the M1917, adjusting the placement of the cigarette with his tongue. "I dunno Egbert, I got a bad feeling about tonight. They sent nine tanks up here right?" Dave questioned. John nodded. "Well, it just sounds like they're mounting something... Bigger. I mean, why the Hell would they waste nine friggin' tanks?"

 

A loud yet still familiar voice intruded. "Because they're uncoordinated cock suckers." Karkat interrupted, sitting down between John and Dave, bags under his eyes. Even when he DID get enough sleep, the bags seldom ever retreated back into his skin.

 

"While that's also true, it still seems a bit TOO stupid." Dave implored, shaking his head. "Eh, what do I know, I'm jussa dumb Texan." he jested, straining his Southern accent a bit farther than it usually went.

  
  
  


Dirk rested in the mud a machine gun entrenchment not far from John and Dave's- in fact he could sometimes hear their more mouthy comrade, Vantas, over the light roar of the rain. Dirk looked over at Tavros who was huddled near a tree, writing on a piece of paper while desperately trying to cover it from the rain with his body. Dirk scooted a bit closer. "Who are you writing?" he inquired.

 

Tavros looked up with what looked like surprise. "U-Uh... Sir?"

 

Dirk nudged the corner of the paper with the barrel of the Thomson. "The paper , Private Nitram. Who are you writing too? Girlfriend, mom, dad, brother, sister...?"

 

Tavros swallowed a bit, looking down at the paper. "Uh... A c-crush, sir. A girl back home. And my family too. It's a message for everyone."

 

Dirk grinned a toothy grin. "Crush huh? So why haven't you asked the gal out yet?"

 

Tavros looked up suddenly with a look of both confusion and irritation. "S-Sir, if I may, sir, why d-do you want to know? Y-... You treated me like shit up until a week ago."

 

Dirk breathed in and sighed, sitting back a bit. "Look, kid, I was here when we first landed in Guadalcanal. And I've seen many a raw recruit die- some cowards," he paused to let that sink in Tavros' mind. "And some with the grit to be a warrior. There are no heroes out here. If you survive long enough, and I do NOT plan on having you die any time soon, you may find yourself wanting to be brave, wanting to go out there and build a throne out of blood. Well don't. Follow my orders and live. Coming home alive will have you seen hero enough."

 

Tavros stared slack jawed, taken aback by this sudden showing of humility. Dirk stared at Tavros for a moment before standing up, moving to sit by the pile of sandbags overlooking the marsh and tree line.

  
  
  


Sollux shuffled around in the dark, trying to find a place out of view from the treeline entrenchment. His boot got caught under a vine growing out of the dirt, sending him tumbling face-first into the ground “Fuck!” he called out, pushing himself to his feet, whiping the thick mud off his face. “I hate thithh god damn jungle! Can a man not take a pithh in peathhe!”

  
  
  


Dave sighed and fiddled with the piece of chocolate in his hand. "This stuff literally tastes like the inside of Karkat's mom."

 

"Hey!" Karkat yelled.

 

"I can second that," John included.

 

"Oh fuck you guys!"

  
  
  


Dirk leaned against the sandbags, fiddling his hands on the large backpack radio Sollux had left behind. He stared across the open marsh as the rain came down on top of him. Dirk groaned and adjusted his helmet. "I'm god damned soaked to the bone." he muttered.

 

"Uh... I could see if one of the other, uh, emplacements have some spare blankets?" Tavros offered, moving over next to Dirk.

 

Dirk looked at his watch; It was almost one A.M. "Nah... Rain'll hopefully lighten up." Dirk rested on the sand bags, drumming his fingers along the rack of the Thomson. "You know, I-" Dirk began before the faint sound of a rifle interrupted. Before he could react, a bullet struck the sandbag Dirk was resting on, sending the sand and debris inside splashing up into Dirk's face.

  
  
  


John looked up as the distant sound of a rifle was heard. "Was that..."

 

Karkat cupped his hands around his mouth. "GUNFIRE! WE HAVE GUNFIRE! GET THE GUNS REA-" a few more rifle shots sounded, one hissing past Karkat's head, striking a tree nearby.

 

"Get down!" Dave yelled, tackling Karkat below the sandbags as another few bullets hissed past.

 

John quickly dove for the machine gun, seeing a few flashes from the treeline in front of him. He also started to hear the machine gun fire of other emplacements near him. John raised the barrel of the machine gun up and started firing.

  
  
  


Dirk rubbed the sand out of his eyes, grunting loudly. "Nitram! Get on that machine gun!" he ordered.

 

Tavros just looked nervously at the hunking M1917, gulping to himself. He crawled over to it and rested the stock of the thing against his shoulder. As he fumbled to flip the safety over, a few small machine gun rounds peppered the sandbags he was at. Tavros let out a yelp, tumbling backwards, scrambling away from the machine gun.

 

Dirk let out a loud yell and moved over to the machine gun, cocking a round into, flipping the safety. "You need something done, do it your self!" he barked, level the barrel with the treeline the shots were coming from. He waited until he saw a flash, turning the barrel toward it and opening fire.

  
  
  


Sollux jumped at the first gunshot. He turned his head back toward where the gunfire was coming from. "Thhon of a bitch!" he yelled, quickly zipping up his pants. He grabbed his M1 Garand from the tree he'd set it on and sprinted back toward the American line of machine gun emplacements.

  
  
  


Dirk fired burst after burst. "Where the hell is Sollux!?" Dirk asked to no one in particular.

 

Tavros knelt next to him, holding a fresh belt of ammunition for when the MG ran out. "I-I think he went to take a piss! Why!?" Tavros asked, wincing as a bullet hit the sandbag near his head.

 

"The Japs are staging a bigger assault on the airfield, this is just the start of it! We need to-" Dirk paused as a few bullets hit the dirt in front of the gun emplacement. Dirk wheeled the gun over to where the burst had come from and drilled a few rounds in it's direction. "We need reinforcements! No doubt they've got more troops moving in on us!"

 

Tavros looked over to the radio lying against the sand bags. "I can-"

 

Dirk interrupted before the boy could start."No, Sollux needs to be the one that can get on the horn." Tavros furrowed his brow. Even in the darkness Dirk could feel the bit of anger rising off the kid. He wanted to prove himself. "If I get capped I need you on this gun." Dirk reinforced.

 

Tavros' face relaxed a bit and he nodded, clutching the belt tighter. "Yes sir!"

  
  
  


"YOU COULDN'T HIT THE BROADSIDE OF A BARN WITH ANOTHER BARN!" Karkat yelled as he drilled round after round from the M1917 into the treeline, his arms jiggling with each burst of gunfire. Dave knelt next to the gun bundling a fresh strip of rounds in one arm while tucking his Garand under the other.

 

John knelt a few bags away, carefully timing his shots, mainly waiting to watch their advancement. "They haven't made any ground!" he yelled, flinching as a shot cracked into a tree above.

 

"Cause they're scared! Don't know what the hell they was thinkin'!" Dave responded at about the same time a loud 'click' came from the hefty machine gun Karkat manned.

 

Karkat slammed his fist on the top of the gun. "I'm dry!"

 

"Well pucker up and let me wet ya." Dave said with sarcasm, moving over to the still-smoking gun. Karkat shuffled back as Dave popped the top open, sliding in the fresh line of bullets. Once he was sure it was in he closed the top, giving it a good thump to ensure it was in place. Dave positioned the box of ammunition that the string of bullets led into into the mud, leaving it nice and stable. "Let 'er rip!"

  
  
  


Sollux clambered onto the sandbags next to Tavros, panting a bit. "Can a man not take a pitth in peatthe around here!?"

 

Dirk fired the last bullet from the machine gun, the remaining shell flying off into the Guadalcanal mud. He turned to Tavros as he knelt, moving over to the dug in back radio, rubbing his sore arms. "Reload that beast!" he ordered, Tavros moving over to the gun with slippery and jittered movements.

 

Sollux already knew what Dirk wanted and began to dial in the correct information into the radio. Finally he took the phone off the crook and handed it to Dirk.

 

Dirk took the handle and held it to his hear. "Henderson Airfield, come in. This is Sergeant Dirk Strider of the South perimeter, do you read me Henderson, over."

 

There was a delay before a voice responded. "We read you Sergeant Strider, we've gotten other radiomen in your area reporting what appears to be large Japanese forces attempting assaults all over that area."

 

"Yes sir," Dirk said, glancing over at Tavros working away at getting the gun reloaded. "We could use reinforcements sir, I think the Japanese are-"

 

"Plotting a larger assault?" The man on the other side of the radio rhetorically questioned. "We've heard the same thing from your C.O. in that area. We'll ready some men to head out to, expect them there in a couple of hours."

 

Dirk confirmed the rest of the trivial information the radioman required before signing off. Dirk sighed just about the same time Tavros finished reloading the M1917. "Back to work."

  
  
  


The light fire fighting continued on with the rain for hours. John was slumped, exhausted, by the machine gun emplacement Karkat and Dave had traded places, Dave now firing the occasional burst of gunfire but mainly just watching now. The waves became less and less around four o’ clock. It was seven now.

 

Dirk slumped over the trigger of the gun as he watched the treeline. “When the hell is our replacements gonna get here…” Dirk sighed. Tavros still readily awaited to replace the guns ammo, Sollux leaning against the radio awaiting, any word back.

 

Sollux glanced over at the treeline and saw something moving through the brush behind them. He sat up a bit, grabbing his rifle, aiming it at the treeline. Dirk saw this movement and unmanned his gun, grabbing his Thompson and doing the same. Tavros soon followed. All three aimed their guns at the rustling brush. Dirk cleared his throat. “Water!” Dirk called out.

 

“Nautical!” an American voice returned. The three men lowered their guns as five soldiers from Henderson came through the brush. “We’re here to relieve you boys.” the man said to Dirk, the other four moving to take control of the M1917.

 

Dirk took his helmet off, letting out a breath of air. “Thank god, we’re exhausted. Are our orders to head back to the airfield?”

 

The man nodded. “E-yup. Get a hot meal and a cot, we’ll wrap up here. The top dogs thing the Japanese are trying to make a last-ditch effort to take Guadalcanal though so be on your toes. The next couple days might be rough.”

 

 

 

Dirk took point of the group as John, Dave, Sollux, Karkat, and Tavros followed in behind. The six climbed over the occasional tree but stayed mainly true to the Jeep paths.

 

John shuffled half-dead behind Dave. Karkat looked back at them. “Will you pick up the fucking pace Egbert, we’re not on a pleasure cruise here.”

 

“I’d have half a mind to punch you if I could feel my hands.” John returned, yawning shortly after, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

 

Karkat rolled his eyes and stared forward. After a little while longer of marching, he paused. “Wait…” he said. The group stopped, Dirk looking back.

 

“What is it?” Dirk asked with a bit of concern, pulling the Thompson from his back.

 

“Do you guys hear that crackling noise?” Karkat asked, looking around around the treeline until his eyes caught sight of a small pillar of smoke. Karkat flinched as a very distant bit of gunfire sounded, but disregarded it. “What the hell is that?”

 

Dirk started to march up the small embankment next to the road. “We’re about to see; spread out behind me, make sure you’re near cover.” Dirk ordered, raising the barrel of his Thompson once he got to the top.

 

The six men moved with caution as they approached what ever was burning. They caught a glimpse of red and white when they got close. Finally, entering the clearing of bent, broken, torched and tossed trees, they caught sight of it. “... Fuck.” John muttered.

 

In the burnt out clearing resided the tattered remains of an F4F Wildcat. Dirk held up his fist for everyone to stop and take aim. Dirk slowly moved ahead by himself, keeping the Thompson leveled on the cockpit. He saw a body slumped inside, but too much blood caked the canopy windows to see the features of the body. Dirk climbed on top of the bullet-ridden wing, and set his gun against the side of the plane. Dirk worked his fingers against the canopy release and yanked. Didn’t budge. He drew his KBAR and jammed it into the side of the window, wrenching and working until finally it gave way.

 

The canopy jerked open to reveal the overwhelming and sickening scent of iron and death. Dirk’s nose crinkled at the stench as he took a brief step back. The pilot’s head was split down the middle, it’s contents currently painting the yolk and monitors in front of the pilot a dark dried maroon, not to mention the windows of the canopy and the clothes of the pilot. Dirk pulled his head away from the sight and turned to face his men. They all looked on with anticipation. Dirk shook his head. “Damn!” Dave called.

 

Dirk turned back and reached his hand in, fishing around inside the pilot’s jacket. After a bit of searching, Dirk yanked out a set of dog tags, some blood now staining his hand and sleeve. Dirk grabbed his Thompson and hopped down from the wing, setting the dog tags on his belt. “Let’s keep moving.” He stated simply, his voice unwavered.

 

The group began moving again, Dave catching up to John to muttered in his hear. “What was that we were saying about those ‘arrogant Wildcat pilots’?”

 

A chill went up John's spine as he took a few quicker steps ahead of Dave, his eyes locked on the ground.

  
  
  


After a "healthy" march, the crew reached the airfield. John checked his watch; 11:39 AM. Dirk looked around as soldiers were scrambling to arm up Jeeps, squads of men readying their guns. Dirk narrowed his eyes a bit. "Stay by the Jeeps, help as you can, I'm going to grab a C.O. and see what the shit has gotten into everyone." Dirk ordered, his men obeying.

 

As Dirk walked off, John made his way to a parked Jeep. He sat in the back and laid his head against the top of the passenger seat, every muscle in his body croaking and aching as they finally relaxed. "Oh my god, I might pass out right here..." John breathed, happily closing his eyes behind his glasses.

 

Sollux set the clunking radio on the ground and sat beside it, checking his rifle for any sort of caked mud or rust. "Don't get too comfortable John," he began. "No doubt in my mind we'll be thhipped out again real thhoon."

 

Karkat rolled against the tire of the jeep, grunting as he did so, immediately moving to untie his boots. "Fuck, I hope not. I think my feet are swollen."

 

Dave collapsed against the Jeep dramatically. "God, what I ever do to you?" he asked, staring up at the sky sarcastically.

 

Tavros shuffled in behind the lot, standing perfectly upright. "I, uh... Actually kind of enjoyed that hike..."

  
  
  


Dirk walked through the groups of rushing soldiers until he finally saw a Lieutenant walking about. Dirk grabbed the man by the arm before he could run past. "Lieutenant," Dirk paused to read the mans name across his chest "McAllen, sir."

 

The Lieutenant paused, facing Dirk. "Yes Sergeant Strider?" he asked calmly, tucking a clipboard under his arm.

 

"Where the hell is going on here? What happened?"

 

"Walk with me." the Lieutenant said, beginning to stride back in the direction of the soldiers. Dirk obeyed. "While you boys were making your way back from the south perimeter, the Japs launched the main attack we thought they were gonna launch. We held them mostly, but a few pockets broke through. We're gunna send out parties to hunt them down and sweep the entire jungle between the perimeters and the airfield before the bastards can start hitting the airfield. You boys fought well last night, you're welcome to-"

 

"Rest? Sir, if you knew my company's reputation you know that's not going to happen." Dirk interjected.

 

The man shrugged. "You wanna die of sleep deprivation, don't let me stop you. Get your men ready then, and take a Jeep this time. They've walked enough for one day."

  
  
  


Sollux looked up from the radio as he sent a glob of mud off the side of it. He caught Dirk approaching their Jeep, a familiar look of purpose in his step. "Oh thhit..."

 

"Load up! Some Japs have broken through the perimeter and we've gotta go in there and stomp them out." Dirk ordered, climbing into the driver seat of the jeep, setting his Thompson across his lap.

 

Karkat groaned and clambered into the passenger seat, Sollux hauling the radio into the back between Dave and John before moving to sit next to them. Tavros sat with his back against the back hatch, rifle relaxed in his lap. Dirk looked back. "Everyone on board?"

 

"Fuck you..." Dave groaned.

 

"Here we go then." Dirk said, turning the engine on with a small roar before driving with the two Jeeps just pulling out of the fence line.

  
  
  


The Jeep bounced along the path behind the other Jeeps. John picked away at the gunk under his nails while Dave boredly watched. Sollux continued to clean the radio while Tavros nervously bounced up and down in the back of the Jeep, Karkat struggling to keep his eyes open on the jungle around them.

 

The front Jeep squealed to a halt, the second Jeep pulling to the left of it. Dirk quickly jerked the wheel right and parked along a ditch in the road. The soldiers in the Jeeps ahead started to pile out, Dirk watching. "Must be near the reported areas of resistance; everyone out!"

 

John sluggishly swung his legs over the side of the jeep, hopping down. Dave followed. Sollux slid off next, grabbing the large radio, throwing it over his back. Tavros opened the back hatch and stumbled out, having to reach back in for his rifle. Dirk and Karkat stepped out the sides of the jeep as Dirk took point once more, moving into the jungle right of the road.

 

Dirk approached the other company’s leader, the two carefully moving step by step along the tall grass. “Where is the encampment?” Dirk asked, training the barrel of the Thompson in front of him.

 

The soldier pointed toward an abandoned machine gun emplacement. “Not sure; but that might be a good place to check first.”

 

The two companies split. Dirk approached one of the sandbag emplacements with caution. “Alright, everyone spread out and keep your head on a swivel. The Japs who did this are probably near by.”

 

John and Dave split off on their own, Dave taking point. He kept his rifle on the bags as he stepped closer and closer. He saw a bit of red splattering the sides of the bags. He approached more slowly until he found himself directly inside the machine gun nest. John watched the area around them while Dave investigated.

 

The first thing Dave noticed were the two American soldiers inside. The first was curled up on the ground, a bullet through his helmet. Judging by the collection of shell casings around him he must of been manning the machine gun, which was now missing. The second lay on his stomach a bit outside the encampment.

 

John looked over Dave’s shoulder at the scene. “What do you think happened?” John inquired.

 

Dave stroked his chin with his free hand, the other now relaxed on the rifle. “Hm… The gunner must of been shot by a flanking Jap, and when his reloader noticed they were being over run he turned to retreat. Got shot in the process.”

  
  
  


“But where’s the machine gun?” Karkat pressed Dirk, staring at the spot where an M1917 should of been.

 

Dirk shook his head as he watched Sollux turn over an American body for the dog tags, Tavros checking a Japanese corpse nearby for gear. “I haven’t the slightest clue. But we can get one thing from this. They have a fair amount of men. These guns are fairly heavy, and by the looks of it they picked all four emplacements clean. They’re trying to-”

 

“H-Hey!” Tavros interrupted, looking at something near the Japanese corpse. “Look over here!”

 

Dirk glanced over at the boy and made his way to him. “What?” Dirk asked, looking at the Japanese  corpse. “It’s a body Tavros, there’s a lot like them around here.”

 

“No, h-here.” Tavros said, pointing to a strange indent in the mud that made it’s way deeper into the jungle. Tavros kneeled beside it. “I-I think one of the bipods on the machine guns they took drug i-in the, uh, mud. We could, uh… Uhm…”

 

“Track them.” Dirk said, grinning as he rested his Thompson against his shoulder. “Excellent find Nitram!” Dirk said with pride in his tone. Tavros smiled.

  
  
  


Dirk, once more, took point, his men behind him, the four other soldiers hanging back a few yards in case of ambush. Dirk studied the ground carefully while Karkat watched the treeline ahead in case of ambush. Dirk followed the marked mud, beginning to see boot prints. Dirk paused, noting how close they were to the road. Dirk held his fist up and knelt, everyone behind kneeling into some form of cover. Karkat shuffled over, clutching the rifle in his arms. “What is it?” Karkat whispered loudly.

 

Dirk pointed ahead the faint tan line in the distance. “That’s the road through the perimeter. They’re setting up an ambush for our reinforcements, we must of just barely gotten past them before they set up the guns.”

 

While Dirk explained, the higher ranking of the other four soldiers made his way next to them. “What’s the plan?” he asked, relaxing his carbine on his knee.

 

Dirk studied the treeline until he caught the slight dull glimmer of what he made out to be a string of bullets. “They’re set up there…” Dirk pointed to the glimmer. “Take your men and hit them from the front. Vantas, Egbert, and I will flank left while Strider and Nitram set up a firing line on the right incase they’ve got encampments further down the road. Captor will hang back and report their position so no unfortunate sunday drivers stroll through Hellfire." The other commanding officer nodded and gave a motion for his men to advance slowly. He joined them, the group of four kneeling through the brush carefully.

 

Dirk moved low from tree to tree as he swung to the far left of the machine gun entrenchment, Karkat and John miming his movements. Dave and Tavros moved a bit slower to the left, finding decent coverable trees before taking aim at the brush next to the machine gun emplacement in case there were reinforcements. Sollux retreated back a bit until he was out of earshot before setting up the backpack radio.

 

The American Sergeant crept ever closer to the set of sandbags until he found himself and his three squadmates behind a tall brush just behind the emplacement. He paused to give his men a syncing symbol. He held his hand up; three, two, one.

 

The four charged out of the brush and aimed their guns into the circle of sandbags. "What the Hell...?" the Sergeant muttered as he stared at the empty emplacement; the gun was there, but no one was inside. At that same moment, he heard ruffling in the bushes behind him.

 

"BONSAI!" cried a voice from behind.

 

"Shit, I can't see them." Dirk said as he trained his rifle on the emplacement. The four soldiers were just out of reach. "Do any of y-" Dirk was interrupted as a brief burst of gunfire came from the treeline, followed by some voices calling out. "Shit, go!" Dirk ordered as he bolted to his feet, charging at the side of the emplacement. Confused, John and Karkat followed.

 

"They're charging in?" Dave questioned himself as he watched Dirk, John, and Karkat bolt for the hidden emplacement.

 

Tavros adjusted his helmet a bit. "U-Uh... Why would they be doing that...?" he wondered allowed. "Did something, uh... Wait... Dave, look." Tavros said, pointing to a few blotches across the road. Dave looked over to see a Japanese soldier uncovering a second machine gun, the barrel facing directly at the emplacement.

 

Dave scrambled to raise his sights to the gunner but it was too late.

 

Dirk rounded the corner of bushes, seeing the mess in front of him. One of the four soldiers was slumped over the sandbags, stab marks aligning his back. The commanding officer was hunched against the side of the sandbag wall, clutching the few strings of organs that made their way through the bayonet tears in his lower belly. Another soldier was kneeling next to a dead Japanese soldier, fingers gripping a bleeding wound on his arm, while the last was still wrestling the gun away from the second Bonsai soldier.

 

Dirk moved to help the last when a repetitive flash of yellow and orange came roaring from across the road. The side of the American burst into a flurry of red and white, the Japanese soldier sharing a similar fate. Dirk quickly dove for the sandbags, screaming "MACHINE GUN! GET DOWN!"

 

"What?" John asked aloud as a flash of red tracers burst through the brush, narrowly missing his head. John froze.

 

"He said get down you mother fucker!" Karkat yelled, tackling John into the ground as another stream of bullets went through the brush.

 

Dirk kneeled beside the injured officer as the other surviving soldier crawled behind cover. "We'll get you help! Just stay down!" he yelled. The officer just seemed to continue staring down in shock. Dirk shook his head and glanced at the top of the sandbags. Seeing a small break in fire, he rose up and fired a burst along the road with his Thompson, ducking down before another few bullets hit the top of the sandbag where his head was.

 

Dave leveled his sights with the machine gunner. Tavros watched nervously. "A-Are you going to, uh, fire?"

 

Dave breathed in and out slowly, replying calmly. "I wanna make sure I don't miss..."

 

Tavros stared at his slightly trembling hands, studying the grooves of the wood of his carbine. "Well... Can you hurry, uh, up-" Tavros began before the side of the tree next to him exploded outward after a burst from a nearby submachine gun. Tavros yelped and dove for the ground, Dave taking his eyes off the gunner to do the same.

 

"Where did that come from!?" Dave yelled out, starting to kneel again when another burst whistled overhead. "Some fucker's got our angle."

 

John and Karkat crawled over slowly to the sandbag pile as a few more bullets hissed overhead. Karkat looked to Dirk; "What the Hell do we do now sir!?"

 

Dirk clutched the Thompson to his chest, looking around. "I think the M1917 still has some rounds left in it! If someone provides cover fire, maybe we could-" Dirk paused as he winced from a few bullets that came dangerously close to his helmet. "We could man it and clear out the other side of the road!"

 

Karkat breathed slowly in and out before answering. "I can do it! I'm the smallest one, I can zip over and provide cover fire!"

 

Dirk looked Karkat in the face, making sure he understood the risks. Karkat nodded silently. "Alright," Dirk began, checking the magazine on his gun. "John, you and the other soldier shoot from the right of the sandbags and I'll keep him busy after that while Karkat mans the M1917. Everyone ready?"

 

John gulped as he clutched the M1 Garand to his chest, nodded slowly. "Ready!" The other nervous soldier returned the nod, straddling over to the edge of where the sandbags met the road. Karkat set his rifle down on the grass and laid his hands on the sandbag wall, preparing to vault over. Dirk made sure everyone was in place before shuffling over to his own position of cover. "Alright... One, two..."

 

Dave crawled along the tall grass, Tavros nervously behind him. Dave stopped and looked back at the young kid, giving a small hand motion for him to come closer. Once Tavros was close enough, Dave spoke in a whisper. "Alright Nitram, I think the rotten S.O.B.s hiding up in one of the palm trees ahead, probably's got a spotter on the ground too. I'm gonna make a dash left, the gunner in the tree will be occupied with me. Hopefully they'll be as accurate as they have been. I want you to take out the guy in the tree while I doop for the spotter."

 

Fear struck Tavros' eyes. "Dave, uh... I-I'm not so sure that-"

 

"For fuck sake Tav, grow a spine." Dave said in a low growl. Tavros recoiled slightly at the sudden snap. "We are gonna get turned int'swiss fuckin' cheese if you don't get your panties out of a knot and start fightin' this war." Dave grabbed Tavros' forearm, the boy looking down at Dave's hand. "We are brothers," Dave continued. "All of us. Egbert, Vantas, Dirk, Captor- The only way we can get out of this alive is if we work together. I need you, Tavros."

 

Tavros stared agawk at Dave before a sense of purpose flushed into him. He tightened his bottom lip and narrowed his eyes, nodding. "Y-You can count on me, Dave." he said with a shaky voice of confidence, his fingers tightening around his M1 Carbine.

 

Dave smiled, before slowly getting low on one knee. "Ok... Let's do this. One... Two..."

 

"Three!" Dirk screamed as he turned the corner of the sandbags. Almost immediately the orange flash sent red-hot metal coming his way, but he held true to his spot, the bullets narrowly missing what bit of him was exposed and crashing into the ground near him. Dirk screamed at the top of his lungs as he squeezed the trigger on the Thompson bag, firing round after round in the direction of the emplacement.

 

John took advantage of the focused fire and popped above the sandbags, laying the bottom of his Garand on the sandbags, screaming as well as squeezed off constant rounds near the emplacement, the man next to him doing the same.

 

As the emplaced machine gunner struggled to correctly pick targets, Karkat rose. Ignoring the few bullets that came dangerously close to his abdomen and chest, he threw his legs over the sandbags and dove face-first inside the protected circle. He fell into the dirt with a grunt, taking no time for rest as he crawled on his belly toward the untouched M1917. He watched as bullets roared above him.

 

Seeing that Karkat made it into cover, Dirk quickly began to move back into his own cover, John and the other soldier doing the same. John's chest heaved up and down. He stared at his feet, feeling that they'd gone numb, as had the tip of his ears. Everything else felt tremendously cold. He patted himself down, expecting to find some spot where the machine gun had hit him, but found none. John slammed the back of his head into the sandbags and sunk lower down against the dirt, feeling the creeping effect of shell-shock.

 

Karkat inched toward the gun, noting that the gunner was most likely watching him, waiting for him to make a go for his own machine gun. Karkat rose to his knees slowly, taking his helmet off his head. He rose it slowly above the sandbags. No more than half of it was revealed before a bullet struck the helmet and sent it flying out of Karkat's hand. Cussing, Karkat sunk against the bags near the M1917. "I can't get to the fucking gun sergeant! You'll need to get his attention again!"

 

Dirk sighed as he clutched his Thompson. "Alright, Egbert. Get ready to..." Dirk trailed off, glancing back to see John zoned out, his face flushed of color. Dirk carefully moved closer and grabbed John by the collar. "Egbert!" he yelled, getting no response. Dirk set his gun down and used the free hand to slap John across the face. John seemed to blink back to life, looking up at Dirk with beady eyes. "John!"

 

John muttered something under his breath and nodded, digging his nails into the sides of the M1 Garand. "R... Ready, sarge." John said, adjusting his position so he was back on his feet. The other surviving soldier merely watched beside the two.

 

Dirk gave John a small pat across the helmet before moving back over to his original position. "Alright, now pop out in uneven order and fire a few shots the gunners way, just give Karkat time to blast the son of a bitch!"

 

John tried to respond with a "sure" or "aye-aye" but it came out as a seemingly familiar wheeze, one not so different from his dream. Taking in a sharp breath of air, John rose from his cover and took aim.

 

"HOLY HELL!" Dave screamed as he sprinted through the brush, bullet after bullet hissing past him or striking the ground near his feet, some cutting up leafs just in his path. Finally he found a small divot in the ground that would provide cover. Dave skidded on his ass into the divot and pressed his side against the cold dirt, making sure his head wasn't exposed as a few more bullets flew overhead.

 

Tavros easily made out the gunner in the tree. He was entirely focused on Dave, though the spotter was out of Tavros’ vision. Tavros rested his carbine on the dirt and leveled the sights on the treeline. "D-Don't think about it..." Tavros muttered to himself as he started to relax his breathing. "It's not a person..." he said again as he checked to make sure a round was in the chamber of the gun. "He's going to hurt D-Dave..." Tavros continued as he tried everything he could to delay pulling the trigger.

 

Dave looked up from his hole in the ground to see a small flash of light go into a tree, a few blotches of red coming out through the leafs.

  
  
  
  


John shot every round he could, Dirk doing the same. The Japanese machine gunner winced at the rounds that cracked near him. Karkat bolted for the M1917 as suppressed machine gun fire missed him entirely. Not even checking to see if the gun was properly placed into the ground, Karkat flipped the barrel so it was roughly pointed at the emplacement across the road and fired.

 

The Japanese machine gunner recoiled as a bullet first went through his shoulder, another going through the left side of his breast, another through his throat, and again through the right chest, and one through his belly-

 

Karkat pumped round after round after round at the emplacement. A voice distant to him was screaming his name but he didn’t hear it. Finally Dirk grabbed Karkat and yanked him off the gun. “STOP!” Dirk commanded, throwing Karkat against the sandbags.

 

Karkat blunk around, reality coming back to him in pieces. Karkat cleared his throat a bit and sunk down onto the ground to sit. “I.. Yeah, still here Sergeant. Just sorta... “

 

Dirk shook his head. “It’s fine Vantas.” Dirk shifted his attention to John, who was gulping for air as shell shock settled in. “John, I need you to find Sollux and tell him to call for a medical evac.” John just looked up with beady eyes, muttering what sounded like “ok”. Dirk shifted his attention back to Karkat. “Vantas, help Egbe-” Dirk paused as a distant gunshot cracked through the treeline. “Shit, Dave and Nitram!”

 

Dave recoiled again as he tried to stand up. The son of a bitch was getting closer. “Tav! You need to advance and get the jump on this guy!” Dave yelled, sliding further down against the dirt as another burst of gunfire pierced the air above him. With a submachine gun at such close range, Dave wouldn’t have a chance if he let the Japanese soldier get close.

 

Seeing a small clearing between two bushes near him, Dave got on his feet and prepared to bolt, Tavros was going to be no help here. The gunfire quieting, Dave figured it was safe and made a bolt. Just as he went through the trees, something black and fast came from beside the bush, hitting him square in the nose. A loud ringing went through Dave’s head and his vision went white as he felt his feet leave the ground, his back finding it shortly after. Dave clawed at his nose, almost positive something felt wrong. His vision slowly came to again as he looked up to see a Japanese soldier aiming a Type 100 at him.

 

Dave saw the sickening smile crease the soldiers lips. Dave held up his bloodied hand, trying to speak but found his words only came out in franticbabbles. Dave closed his eyes as a loud burst of gunshots filled his ears, his skin going ice cold.

  
  
  
  
  


Rose tightened the robes waistband as she sat down at the coffee table, an Irish coffee in her hand. She took a sip, staring down at the paper and pen below her. She supposed this time was to come, eventually. No point in putting this off any longer. Taking a rather good gulp of the whiskyed coffee, Rose Lalonde Egbert took the pen in her hand and started writing.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the story grows ever more! Just want to say again I appreciate those who continue to read my fic. Also, my girlfriend and artist is slowly working to get more pictures added but she's been rather swamped lately so I apologize in advance. Again, thank you for the read!


	10. Benchwarmer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I get irritated, nervous, very tense or stressed, but never bored."
> 
> ~Catherine Deneuve

John flinched as A shell hit near the runway, sending a few stray pebbles and bits of dirt into the trench. He sighed and sunk lower in, looking over at Sollux. “How long do we need to sit here and rot in this hole in the ground?”

“Until the Japanethhe thhtop bombarding the ever loving fuck out of us Egbert.” Sollux replied cynically, looking back to an unmarked novel in his hands.

John shifted uncomfortably, looking up at the blue sky. Through the few pillars of smoke, it was rather clear out that day, blue skies. John sighed. “Well… Well how long is that going to take?” John pressed. Sollux began to groan in frustration.

 

Tavros sat with his carbine in his lap and his helmet on, watching Dave, who sat across from him. He seemed mostly composed but was still a bit shaken up. “Uh… Hey, Dave.” Tavros said in his usual shaky tone.

Dave glanced up. “Sup Tav…” he muttered, his rifle against the trench wall.

Tavros tried to get a look at Dave’s face, but the shade from his helmet made his features difficult to see. “Uh… Dave… Are you feeling, uh, alright? You’re not your usual self, ever since the… Uh… Well, since you almost got shot yesterday.” Tavros finished, watching Dave scoff at his words.

“Yeah, well… Fear of death I guess.” Dave said, wanting desperately to end this conversation. 

Sure enough, however, Tavros pressed on. “We’ve almost died, uh, before… A lot a-actually! It’s been a real sh-shit past few months. Why be all weird now…?” Dave opened his mouth to protest having to answer but Tavros interrupted before he could. “Don’t bullshit me Dave.” Tavros said simply, even a bit sternly. Dave looked up, surprised by Tavros actually being firm with him.

Dave thought about spinning a lie, but figured there was no point in doing so. Tavros would know. “This… This time was more personal.” Dave said, keeping his voice from fluctuating. “The only time I got this close was with that guy that jumped into John and I’s trench at the Ridge. And even then I couldn’t see his face. But this guy… He was right friggin’ there. I can still see his face. He was a twitchy-finger away from killin’ my sorry ass.” Dave spat.

Tavros nodded. “That… Makes sense. Dirk was, uh, a few seconds away from almost not saving you.”

Dave frowned, pulling his helmet over his eyes. “I know.”

 

Rose sat silent in the passenger seat, watching the buildings pass by. Jane drove quietly for a good while as well, though she constantly looked over to see if Rose hadn’t fallen asleep. Finally Jane cleared her throat, and Rose glanced over, yanked out of whatever daydream she’d fallen into. “So… Are you excited for your new job at the factory?” Jane asked, a rich southern twang in her tone.

While they had seldom ever spoken before, Rose always felt comfortable around Jane. Perhaps it was because of how close she and Roxy were, and in turn how close Rose and Roxy had been. Rose smiled a little, sitting up. “Honestly? Not very.” Rose responded, wearing fake joy. “But I suppose it gets me out of the house… Lately all I’ve been doing is sitting there, smoking cigarettes and feeling sorry for myself. And I’m tired of leaching off Roxy… It’s time I pay for myself.” Rose stated sternly, puffing her chest out with some form of residual pride.

Jane smiled. “Well that’s swell. You know you could always work for Roxy and I?” Jane offered, knowing that not only would the pay be better, but Rose’d be less likely to end up killing herself by accidentally dropping ordinance on the floor. So many men had come home to wives who’d died in the factories. 

Rose nodded. “I know. And once I actually come to my senses, I might. But the hard work will be good for me, for now, and I need to keep away from the booze. That, and by helping this factory, I can feel closer to John. I believe I’ll be working on bullets, if the papers I got on this place are right, most being sent to the front lines. I’ll be indirectly helping John. Fighting by his side."

Jane smiled a bit of a grim smile. "That makes sense... A little too much sense if you ask me. But you're a big girl Rose, it's your decision in the end. Want me to walk you in for the interview?" Jane offered.

Rose smiled back. "Mhm. That'd be nice, Jane."

 

"Son of a w-whore!" Eridan bellowed, throwing his hands on the table in his private tent, sliding them across the wooden top, sending the maps and different reports onto the dirt floor. A nervous looking soldier stood at the mouth of the tent, sweat beading from his brow. Eridan wheeled his head around to look at the man. "W-what the ever lov-ving FUCK do you mean w-we're pulling OUT of Guadalcanal!?"

The soldier gulped before answering. "The... Higher ups believe that the island is lost, sir. We're moving to another location to fortify it. They hope to weaken the Americans by constantly building a stronger and stronger-"

"Shut up!" Eridan commanded, leaning against his table, his face red with rage. He leaned, staring at the floor for what felt like forever. Finally he stood, adjusting his jacket. "Leav-ve me." Eridan ordered in a hushed tone.

"H-Hai!" the Japanese soldier responded, offering a salute as he snapped his boots together before leaving the tent, letting out a sigh of relief.

Eridan hunched over a single map that happened to remain on the table; a grand map of Japan and the islands near it. Taking a knife from his boot, Eridan stabbed it straight through the small blip that was Guadalcanal, the wood splintering as the metal of the blade pierced it.

 

Dirk looked over the wall of the trench as a distant shell fell and uprooted a tree near the perimeter of the airfield. Dave came shuffling over, barely phased by the nearby explosions. They were constant at this point. "Sir." Dave muttered, leaning next to his commanding officer.

Dirk glanced over, muttering a simple "hm" before returning his gaze to the airfield. Dave raised an eyebrow. "Sir, permission to speak f-"

"Go ahead." Dirk interrupted.

Dave nodded. "Sir... Who is Ampora?" Dave asked.

Dirk sighed, quietly looking over as a shell hit an abandoned emplacement near the front gates, sending sandbags flying off into the distance. "He's... An imperial officer. I 'met' him briefly during the landing on Guadal. I saw him up there barking orders while I went off the beach. He made eye contact with me once when we got further up the beach and since then... The man is a fucking ghost.

"He wiped out half my squad before you five showed up, and he taunts me during these fights. Hell, you saw what he did to Morrison and O'Mile. I don't know why the son of a bitch has it out for me... I have no doubt, as long as I'm in this campaign, we'll be seeing each other. Whoever this Nip is, he won't allow it any other way." Dirk sighed as he looked toward his boots, a bit of dirt from a nearby explosion scuffing them. 

Dave stared a bit wide eyed. "Well son of a bitch. That's some nightmare shit right there, Sarg."

"Agreed."

 

Nepeta looked out the window of Equius' office, staring at the bleak brick walls, a nightingale soaring without care, a cool breeze rolling through the trees outside, though she felt no breeze behind glass. She sighed.

Equius pushed the door open, his shoulders hunched with exhaustion. Nepeta looked over, smiling. "Equius! You're back!" she cooed, leaping to her feet. Before the large man could respond, she was upon him, throwing her arms around his waist and squeezing him hard enough to hurt his back a little. It scared Equius sometimes how strong she was for someone so... Small.

He didn't hug back, he seldom would, but did offer a smile and a pat on the head. "Hello Nepeta. How are you?"

She let go, giving out an exaggerated groan. "Boooored. I'm always bored in here." she said with a frown, falling back on the armchair near the window.

Equius frowned as he took off his coat, setting it on the coat hook near the door, making his way to his desk. "I know it's quite boring in here... But I simply can't allow you out there, with..."

"With Gamzee." Nepeta muttered, frowning as she stared at her feet. "I know... I'm just... I've spent almost every day since I got here in this office. I finished every book you had- I've read Mein Kampf over three times!" she huffed.

Equius made something between an irritated mutter and a sigh, falling back on his desk chair. The wood groaned under his weight. "I... I'll try to get some more novels the next time I can, alright Nepeta?" he offered, wanting only peace and quiet. He had too many thoughts swirling through his head. He didn't need another moral dilemma.

Nepeta opened her mouth to protest, but closed it slowly, nodding. "Ok..." she said in a mewl, crawling deeper in the armchair, turning to look out the window. The nightingale was gone.

 

Rose opened the foreman's door slowly, poking her head inside. A heavier man adorning a slick black widow’s peak sat cutting up a steak, a cheap suit hanging off his shoulders. He looked up at the pretty face inching it's way inside. He smiled a jolly grin as the girl further entered the room, another women coming in behind her. "You must be Rose." the man said, standing out of his chair, his handkerchief falling to the floor. He took no notice to it and walked around the table, making his way to Rose.

Jane stayed back as Rose took a step forward, extending her hand toward the man. He took it and gave it a good firm shake, Rose attempting not to cringe at his sweaty palms. "Indeed I am, Rose Egbert." she smiled, her bobbed hair bouncing a bit.

The man glanced over her shoulder. "And who is your friend Ms. Egbert?"

Rose looked back at Jane who was turning flush at the attention. "This is Jane... Uh..."

"Crocker! Jane Crocker." Jane stated, smiling as she extended her own hand, the man taking it and shaking it with the same enthusiasm.

"Ms. Crocker! I didn't think I was signing up two new workers." the foreman stated, waddling back to his armchair, gesturing for the two to sit.

Rose laughed a bit as she slid into one chair, Jane moving to the other. "Oh, ha! Ah nono- she just drove me here and-"

"A bit nervous?" the foreman interrupted, smiling. He gave a dismissive wave. "Not a problem Ms. Egbert, we've got plenty of first-time armament workers- all of them are really! We'll make sure you know what you're doing before you really start playing with the more sensitive toys." the foreman offered with a smile, bringing little, if any, comfort to Rose.

Jane rested her hand on Rose's shoulder, giving her some ease. Rose let out a long breath of air, nodding. "Thank you, Mr...?"

"Mr. Ogre. Horrible name, I know." he said with a bellowing laugh. "I'm nicer than the name implies, believe me. So, Ms. Egbert, do you believe you're ready to start?"

Rose looked over at Jane, who gave her a nod and a comforting smile. She turned back to the foreman and grinned nervously. "Let's save the troops, Mr. Ogre."

 

 

Sollux sat, continuing to tinker with the radio in front of him, a floral canopy giving him shade and the radio shelter from the raining debris. Karkat shuffled over, ducking as another bomb went off. "Do they ever run out of ammo?" Karkat questioned out loud, squatting beside Sollux.

"Only when they run out of men, which thheems to never happen." Sollux responded quietly, attempting to calibrate the turn dial which'd been knocked out of place some time ago.

Karkat rubbed his chin a bit as he watched. "Hey Captor, I have a question."

"Mm?"

"What exactly did you do before you conscripted?"

"I... Worked at a library."

"How'd you learn to do that fancy bullshit with the radio then?"

"Library'thh have lothh of bookthh you moron."

"On radios?"

Sollux sighed, realizing now he wasn't getting out of this conversation anytime soon unless a shell came along and mercifully ended his life. "On just about anything. I left highthhchool when I wathh thhixteen. It wathh to eathhy for me. Then I thhtarted at the library and juthht... Read. Everything. College bookthh, tinkererthh workguidethh, novelthh."

"Ok, hang on." Karkat said, holding a hand in front of himself. "It sounds like you're a god damn scholar, why the Hell did you sign up for this grunt work?"

Sollux shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "There comethh a time when we need to thhtop reading and thhtart acting. I've read about a lot of warthh Karkat, and thithh ithh the clothhethht we'll ever get to a war of 'good' and 'evil'."

Karkat had a look of deep thought. "Good... And evil... I... Never really considered that this war could really have two sides like that to it."

"Thathh becauthh you're an idiot."

"Fuck you!"

 

"This is where we make the bullets." Mr. Ogre said, slapping his hand on a steel table, a loader clamped to it and a box of shells beside it. "However I'm going to put you to a slightly simpler task first... If you don't mind." he continued, looking to Rose for approval. She nodded. "Right then. Over here Ms. Lalonde," he went on, moving beside an assembly line where women with small brushes were painting the tips of bullets red, "Here is where we mark which rounds are tracers or not."

"Tracers...?" Jane asked curiously in the background.

Mr. Ogre looked happy to explain. "Tracer rounds ma'am! These ones, by the look of it..." he paused to pick a freshly painted bullet up before setting it down. "Look like the types we'll be putting in planes, for example. See, tracers have a phosphorus coating that heats the bullet up when it leaves it's gun, causing the shell to get red hot. It's a way to see where your shots are going!"

Jane smiled at Mr. Ogre's enthusiasm. "Why, how interesting! How does that sound Rose?" Jane asked.

Rose merely stood, quietly watching the bullets come past on the assembly line. "How long before I can work on the loaders?" Rose asked. Jane frowned a bit, and Mr. Ogre felt the somberness of her tone.

"You really want to get to making bullets, huh? Your hubby is a lucky man, miss. Work on these for two weeks and I'll teach you how to start loading smaller rounds." Ogre proposed, adjusting the already loosened tie. If it'd been entirely tightened, Rose thought, the fat on Mr. Ogre's neck would pop the collar button right off.

"Alright. I can agree to that." Rose said, offering a smile, though it wasn't hard to detect the gesture's hollowness. 

"I hate to bring this up during the first interview, but how much will Rose be paid and how long will she have to work Mr. Ogre?" Jane piped from behind, giving a small wave behind Rose to bring the attention to her.

Mr. Ogre smiled. "I'd of been surprised if you didn't ask Ms. Crocker. Regular hours are from eight A.M to six P.M and Rose'll start out at $25 a week, though I can eventually bump her up to $30 if she stays long enough."

Jane nodded. "That sounds like decent money. What do you say Rose? I can drive you to and from work, Roxy is the one who generally keeps the bar up anyway."

Rose stared at the glossy brass rattling along past her. "Sure." she said quietly, turning toward Mr. Ogre. "Where do I sign?"

"Right this way." Mr. Ogre said as he led them back to his office.

 

 

"When was the last time you slept? You look like shit." The Handmaiden said a bit crudely, taking a long drag from from the "cigarette" she was smoking.

The Lord merely glanced over, staring more at the jungle through the car window behind her. "When was the last time you were sober?" he retorted.

She shrugged. "A fair point."

 

 

Dirk stared at the orange sky. The afternoon crept on, and yet the bombs still fell. Hardly a soul was truly wounded in the bombardment but it was annoying none the less (and Dirk pitied the bastards who would have to re-flatten the runway). He turned his head to move back through the dug in, glancing over at a small divot where a chess board lay on top of a crate, Sollux and Karkat staring intensely at the pieces. Dirk, a bit flabbergasted, knelt down and moved over to them. "What the hell do you two think you're doing!?"

"Trapping hithh rook." Sollux retorted a bit boredly.

"Fuck off you blithering feculent shithole, my rook is fine!" Karkat jeered, a simple "mhm" being returned from Sollux's side of the 'battlefield'.

Dirk still stared in almost concerned confusion. "Wh... Where the fuck did you even get a chess set?"

"Found it."

 

 

Nepeta lingered near the fence, the thick of the darkness allowing her cover from the spotlights on the walls. She watched the younger prisoners work past the hours that the older ones could muster, shifting the bodies or digging or doing whatever stupid task the guards wanted them to do. The other day she had even witnessed them forcing the prisoners to play leap frog. Nepeta would never be able to look at the playful child's game with the same innocence she had before.

Feeling as though she'd resided there too long, Nepeta ducked through some brush and made her way across the snow toward the collection of temporary buildings set up as officers’ housing. The moonlight was smothered through dark clouds- be it ash or natural, Nepeta could not tell- and her movements were cloaked in shadows. Making it between the narrow buildings, she thought she was safe as she turned a corner to enter the long walkway that led to the building she now shared with Equius, until a large gangly figure rounded the side of the building to stand in front of her.

Nepeta stared up, her voice silent with horror. She backed up rapidly and felt her shoulderblades slam into the wall behind her, producing a dull pain. She let out a slight whimper as Gamzee stared down at her, the smell of Schnapps hot on his breath. "Where the mother fuck have you been, mm? It's too late for little girls to be out n' about... Maybe I should take you back to my room n' keep ya safe..." Gamzee hissed out, a sick smile forming on his slender, pale face.

"N-No, please, Equius' room is just around the-" Nepeta breathed out before Gamzee's long, bony hand launched out, striking her hard across the mouth. The sheer size of the hand to her smaller head left pain trailing from her eye down to her jaw. She let out a quiet cry and fell to her knees in the snow. Before she could respond to the strike, the same hand could be felt hitching itself to the top of her head. Squeezing her hair back, Gamzee yanked her up so they were face to face. He saw the bruise forming along her cheek and eye. It made him smile.

"You're just another whore, like all the others." Gamzee spat as he leaned in closer- so close his nose was almost touching Nepeta's. The smell of the booze and the stinging of her face made her want to vomit. Nepeta was almost sure Gamzee was going to kiss her before he let her head slip from his fingers. She fell into the snow, squealing quietly as tears formed in her eyes. She wanted to fight him and run from him all at the same time.

"Whatever." Gamzee muttered in a bored tone as he towered over the young woman. "Go back to suckin' Equius' cock'r readin' him beddy-by stories or whatever it is you two do, I've got a real woman to… Taste." And with a few strides, each ending in the soft crunch of snow, the demon of Nepeta's life was gone. For now.

 

Equius clicked away at a typewriter with a bored sigh. Paperwork. Makara never had to do paperwork because Scratch always "took care of it", and Scratch never had to do it because he'd offer a Jewish lackie to do it for him in exchange for the lackie's... Well, life. Equius however wrote all the work himself. The thought had crossed his mind to teach Nepeta how to do it, but he wanted to hide her from the statistical truth of this Hell hole (is that what it was?) for as long as he could.

Equius was just about to finish his last report- something regarding the shipment of confiscated goods- when the door burst open with a chilling wind. Equius looked up in irritation thinking that it was another winter storm that had launched the thing out of it’s flimsy lock, but was shocked to find Nepeta standing in the doorway, the entire side of her face turning black and blue. Equius launched upward, accidently sending his seat tumbling back into the floor. “Who!?” Equius ordered, quickly striding around his desk to approach her.

Nepeta took two weak steps before falling forward into Equius’ arms. “G… Ga…” she choked out as she began to sob against his shirt before breaking out into heavy sobs, burying her face into the trench coat's musty interior.

Equius’ face became red with rage as he squeezed Nepeta to his chest. 

 

Rose pressed her cheek against the cool glass window of the car. The chilled touch of it felt like heaven on her warm cheek. Jane drove quietly, Roxy glancing back from the passenger seat. “Are you alive Rosey?” Roxy asked cheerfully, full of her usual energy.

Rose replied with a groan.

Jane glanced at the rear view mirror for a moment, seeing Rose in her oil-stained overalls and shirt, a bit of black still smudged across her cheek, her bobbed hair erratic and sticking up in all directions. “They sure kicked your butt today.” Jane said, much quieter than Roxy.

Rose rose slowly from the window, her jaw still slacked open and her eyes closed. “No Ms. Crocker… I kicked my ass today.” Rose yawned. 

“Well,” Roxy slurred. “You know what they say about hard quirk!”

“Work, dear.” Jane corrected cooly.

“Work!” Roxy repeated.

“That it’s good for the soul…?” Rose answered curiously, sliding her blackened fingers through her hair.

“Nope! That it getcha paid n’ laid!” Roxy smiled.

Rose felt the same warm (infectious really) smile creeping onto her lips that seemed to always spread around the room Roxy was in… Or, in this case, the cabin of a car. “Well,” Rose began with that accent of gambler-like arrogance returning to her. “I might be finding my purse a bit fuller, but as for the other incentive…”

Jane frowned a bit. “John’ll come back soon enough Rose…”

Rose smiled and put a greasy hand on Jane’s shoulders, smudging a bit of the blue dress. “I know Jane. I don’t worry as much about that anymore… I was just making a joke.”

“Jus’sa joke Jane, lighten up! And besides, John probably ain’t doin’ nothin’ but sittin’ around looking at Playboys with a bunch of young… Strapping, handsome men.” Roxy cooed. Jane’s face flushed a bit red and she narrowed her eyes on the road ahead. Seeing this, Roxy giggled. “Just kidding dear.”

Rose laughed quietly at the two and sunk back into her chair, getting comfortable as she looked out the window- Rose slowly looked back over at the two and raised an eyebrow. “Wait a minute… Dear?”

“Oh god…” Jane sighed. “I think she knows.”

Roxy smiled and reached in the glovebox for a cigarette tin. “Took her long enough.”

Rose went wide eyed. “You two are…”

“Yes.”

 

“Come on Thhtrider, how doethh that not get your rockthh off?” Sollux argued, the orange sunset reflecting slightly off his helmet.

Dirk sighed, shaking his head. "I'm just not into the whole two-girls thing." Dirk relaxed against the dirt wall of the dug in.

"I'm kinda with him on this one." Karkat commented, twisting his canteen open for a drink. "It's better to just have one to yourself."

"I've had three girls at once." Dave stated confidently, relaxing his boots up on a small crate.

"No you haven't." Dirk said plainly.

"You're right, I'm bullshitting through my teeth." Dave responded quietly.

An alarm blared over the airfield briefly before a voice came over the intercoms; "The Japs have stopped firing. You're free to leave your trenches."

"Thank G-God." Tavros breathed, throwing his rifle out of the dug in before crawling out himself, everyone following behind.

"You know," John said to no one in particular as he straddled out of the hole in the ground he'd been forced to spend his day. "I'm pretty sure my cousin in law Roxy has a girlfriend."

"What tells you that?" Dave asked in a bit of a huff, knocking his boot against a crate to get the mud off.

"Just a hunch, I guess."

 

"You two are lesbians?" Rose asked.

"Straight as a lamp post after I get behind the wheel of a car." Roxy stated, rather proudly. Jane, however, was sinking into her chair with embarrassment.

Rose smiled and relaxed a hand on her shoulder. "I don't mind Jane, really, there's nothing wrong with it."

Jane sighed. "I know, it's just... There's a lot of people who wouldn't take too kindly to the knowing of Roxy and I. L.A. is about as clear from that attitude as you can get, but I still feel... Nervous about it." she admitted, relaxing her grip on the steering wheel. She could feel the muscles in her fingers audibly pop as she stretched them out.

Rose gave Jane's shoulder a slight squeeze. "Well, you won't have to worry about me blabbing. I actually find it quite adorable."

"We're also paying, like, half her rent." Roxy smiled.

"Bribery does wonders dear cousin."

 

"God, I hate it out here. Damn these jungles." The Handmaiden muttered as she visibly perspired, batting a neon green fan at her face, the blade of the fan having a quite literal thinned blade concealed on it. It had been The Lord's first gift to her. She quite adored the thing, especially now.

"Stop complaining." The Lord commanded, though the Maiden had learned by now that most of his threatening behavior was all smoke and mirrors, when it was directed at her at least.

The Handmaiden huffed quietly as she sat against the hood of the car, fanning herself with one hand while the other was crossed under her breasts. "When are these 'patriotic warriors' supposed to arrive anyway?"

The Lord breathed in deep and sighed. "Soon enough..."

"And why are we helping them out anyway? We don't actually want to take out the fuckin' emperor do we? That's insanity."

"You really are a stupid little girl aren't you?" The Lord muttered.

"Oh ok mister big-and-scary, why are we here shitting in the jungle then?" The Maiden asked, the irritation rising in her tone.

"Because, we're double agents. When we can find out all the agents Ms. Peixes has, we can eliminate them and receive a nice compensation from the man she wants to kill. Why do you think we were sent to Japan in the first place?" The Lord explained in a rather condescending manner.

"Maybe you just wanted something more tropical." The Maiden said sarcastically, sticking out her tongue. "Besides, I'm used to France, not this shithole of a c-"

"Shut up." The Lord commanded, holding one hand in front of her as the sound of rocks being crunched under wheels echoed ahead. "They're here."

"Finally." The Handmaiden said with a sigh, reaching up her bare thigh for the dagger strapped to her leg under her dress. "I was growing bored of sitting on the bench."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to push out. Finals have been coming up and life has been crazy. I should be working more dilligently as summer approaches. I thank my readers for their patience!
> 
> Also, this will NOT be the only installment in the Warstuck series. I plan to add two other installments after this- the longest story- is finished. So keep an eye on me!


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